Reflections
Evening. The sky has cleared. One star, two stars.
the fires of the shepherds up on the mountain. Frogs quack
down the river, next to the taxidermies, where animal skins,
nailed on wooden planks, are lined in the yard like yellow
maps of lost peninsulas.
Then,
a huge, indifferent moon reflects onto the dried skins. They
shine. The idol of the night watchman is reflected in them,
as if multiplied, in places with a shotgun, in other places
with a small, silver knife, in other places with the naked,
thin woman riding on his neck.
Libros Libertad 