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by Sergio Antonio Ortiz

Llegas sobre mi carne
Tembloroso de auroras… *
Federico Garcia Lorca, Veleta

Lean against a seawall,
ask the sky to undress,
pull it down to my lips
until it shakes.

Gulls slide into and away
from a shaft of light,
the way I run marathons
behind the palisade.

Close your eyes,
forget retail bankers who
never risk their chip.
Fingertips about your shoulders
dance the wind.

Press, and once again begin,
anticipate the dawn
from side to side.
on the day of the dead.


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