Behind each mirror
is a dead star
& a baby rainbow
sleeping.
Behind each mirror
is a blank forever
& a nest of silences
too young to fly.
The mirror is the wellspring
become mummy, closes
like a shell of light
at sunset
The mirror
is the mother dew,
the book of desiccated
twilights, echo become flesh.
by Federico Garcia Lorca
from Suites.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment