craneo de un caballoSoon it was clear that the moonwas a horse's skull,and the air, a dark apple.The gearshift shudder ofa heavy-laden truck fades,all the while, thesustained drone of bees;past their prime and sluggish,their wings cannot be stilled.A dull glint behind the eyesof a yoked pair of oxen,standing at a crossroadbetween myself and the fieldsthat bake in the Augustof a Spanish sun,waiting for thehammer and anvil to sing,for the echoing refrainof rifle shots beyonda stand of distant treesshimmering from spent cartridgesin the waning afternoonof your exquisitely curved spine.
Lovebiterough-house, you tryto nip me OUCH! too latecat beat you to it
PilgrimageI go to the mountainbathed in birdsongrecharging my faith
It's a global thingskin heads and flip-flops,young monks in saffron robesat an Internet cafe
Shiveringafter, new snowfalllays down a blanketas we gather our clothes