Portrait
His eyes are angry his hair sticks up
like the shattered glass on the fence wall of a tree garden
Your hand cannot clamber up there – it will be scratched
His hands are two petrified rivers
In his silence a young girl had drown some years ago
and his mouth remains tightened – not tightened
just that he licks like a child does a red sugary cockerel
Don’t show that you saw him – he will go away
with his hair sticking up like the glass on the fence wall
Libros Libertad 