I
men rush out on the streets
to celebrate the coming of night
the sound of a flute goes thinly into the ear
and the plazas are again places of festivity
where girls with bare backs that meet
the eyes of adolescent tellers
repeat the movements of an ancient
sacred dance
and in the clamor
of the fruit vendors
forgotten gods speak
II
the repeated shipwreck of the parks
at nightfall
the hour in which closed
by the graze of a somber
wing
the heart descends to cold abodes
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