Wednesday, December 28, 2011

Jose Manuel Arango (1937-2002)


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


the repeated shipwreck of the parks
at nightfall

the hour in which closed
by the graze of a somber
the heart descends to cold abodes

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