Distant Lights
A small glen of cypresses in the sunshine. We were seeing
again. We discerned all the items one by one. A green boat.
Quiet light floating on the water. A window, a wet rope,
the seagull’s wing, words whispered carefully
in the silence.
The dead men on the front steps, with no enmity,
not sadness. Ripped nets in their hands, seaweed and
yellow shells of small crabs, their insides painted with
a serene Saint Nicolas or a light blue, small-faced
Virgin Mary.
Libros Libertad 