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Snakes. Creased with the cipher of certainty they
Had crossed over the yellow plants in the garden so

As to drink the light.

We looked at them, excited, as one sees the drunk-
Enness of a flower.

Exuberances. There’s someone in the fullness of the

I keep the shard scent of vanilla like something that
Restores itself inside my heart.

I sense the shadowless burning of the forests.

They trimmed the trees at mid-afternoon. In our
Fatigue, green lightning flashes left us their breath.


A slight bewilderment glimmered in the hint of the
Rose and the gardenia. We knew that misery is beautiful

If forgotten.

They said that there was always light on her fore-
Head and that a spring flowed in the boredom of her nights.


We longed for reality in the vertigo of her chamber.

Something resembling a tremor took place next to
The machines of the night.

Silently we knew boldness under the eyelids of

She smiles in her mouth forms a small universe.

She speaks of domestic issues, but there’s something
Eternal that flourishes in her respiration.

Clarity overcomes her like an ancient pain.

Dry grass grew amidst the waste. You rubbed your
Hands over the flayer’s table. Ducks showed their

Impurity in the skulls hanging from the hooks.


Oh, clarity at the edge of decomposition.

A restlessness awoke us in our children’s dreams: the cry of the wolf was lost in the Depth of the day.


Kiss all that destroys you: indeterminacy, vainglory,


Your pureness is in the eagle’s flight when it rises in
Search of its gods.

At dawn she opened a furrow next to the library.


Her hope: to sow a row of white lilies.


She had arrived at the deepest serenity.


The unchanging is only happiness for your heart.
Remember: you are no one under the air, quiet and still.


Blood clots explode in the dream. Above buzzards palpitate. The flowers of a fountain Brandish the bellies of children at night.

Orders to the heart: lick the dew of the blessing of the absent.


I see her, dead like a minute particle over the dry
Grass. On the fishing boat I see her seeing the flight

Of infinite clouds. Her body, a bottle empty many a month before.


Maria Baranda


The Brooklyn Rail


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