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Se riza el aire gris.

 


The field

of olives

opens and closes

like a fan.


Above the grove

the sky is sunk

the rain is dark

the stars are cold. 


A trembling in the rushes

and darkness falls

on the riverbank.


A ripple

through the grey air. 


Olive trees

laden with screams.


A flock 

of captive birds

move their long, long tails

in the shadows. 


FGL (1931)

PSY (Feb. 2025)

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