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Tuesday 8 January 2013

Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal


He sleeps or pretends to sleep.  He moves his feet under his sheets.  He pretends not to hear but he hears.  Is it best not to know or not to care?  She holds a baby doll in her arms.  She lies on her back and talks to the doll.  She says it is her baby.  She’s nearly 80.  She says God is the father and no one else. 

Your affect mirrors silences.
Your secretive nature conceals
the origin of moonlight.
From a distance I spy a glimmer
of your mysterious smile.
In vain I try to make conversation.
The sunset falls on you as
you slip into the solitude of days.
Your affect does not change.
Your hand shields the sun from
your eyes as oblivion sets in.
Love lost is not flattering.
You are lost in another time,
where you closed your heart.

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