After a veil of rain,
butterflies rise from
the ground. She runs with my
blow n kiss, but its
moi sture in the
air drifts a
part.
More of us than ever before walk
the Earth at once. All over the globe more
men and women fall in and out of love,
and open windows frame more rain-facing
faces than ever before in the history of
storms.
May Heaven’s brimstone rain down, reprobate,
upon your hair since sin is such a thrill—
you who ate acorns, drank the river’s swill,
then robbed the poor to be both rich and great!
Every afternoon in Granada,
every afternoon, a boy dies.
Every afternoon, the water sits down
to speak with his friends.
A little flower doesn’t know how beautiful she is
She has no such a concept
A little flower doesn’t even know her own name