by li-young lee
look at the birds. even flying
is born
out of nothing. the first sky
is inside you, open
at either end of the day.
the work of wings
was always freedom, fastening
one heart to every falling thing.
rápidas manos frías/ retiran una a una/las vendas de la sombra/abro los ojos/ todavía/ estoy vivo/en el centro/ de una herida todavía fresca ~*madrugada* por octavio paz
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