how will you know the difficulties
of being human, if you're always
flying off to blue perfection?
where will you plant your grief-seeds?
workers need ground to scrape and hoe,
not the sky of unspecified desire.
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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