Sunday Evening
The Sunday sundown faded in its faraway loneliness.
Ghosts of bicycle riders along the length of
the whitewashed fence wall, from the square to
the seashore. The lonely furniture were left behind
the windows — the tables, the chairs, the big chest with
the tall glasses, the silver spoons and the mirror reflecting
on its rosy surface; faraway the palm tree of Saint Pelagia
with its five broken wings. Artemis with two dogs made of
porcelain was sitting under the palm tree.
Libros Libertad 