Poem By Jorge Enrique Adoum
Is it possible that this is the entire
story, a single day? Yesterday's news,
lost in the next-to-last page,
the drop in shares?
They forcibly charge you the overdue
rent for the land, they charge you for the things
your lamp drove to death by the sheer power of its
and for the heart and its young beasts
that graze while sighing:
gun powder, your
shakes its hands: 'Case closed.'
You are already the one you would be, the same
[dust of which
you were somewhat relieved by your clothes brush.
I will do as you ask; I am still the one you were.
Wandering bird. Prophetic beast.
Hail, wandering angel, irretrievably intact.