The wood, which was used
Without love
To make wings of planes
And windows,
That wood
Inhabited by the spirits of hundreds of birds
From when it was part of a tree,
They clung to it,
While contemplating the skin of their little babies
And thinking
The leaves, which protect me from the wind …
Are late …
The wood of that window
Knows
That there are feathers beneath its bark,
That someday
It will be able to steal
Out of these squares
Designed for it
And then it will fly high
Wiping away the sweat of workers from its skin
Boasting
In front of children waiting for their school bus
That its origin was
A group of sparrows.
(from “An Angel Suspended on a Clothesline”)
