Subject: Juana

From: "lanae berte" <[email-masked]>
Date: Sat, 31 Mar 2007 22:28:37 +0900

Late February, and the air's so balmy
The weight of being born into exile is lifted.
His sightless eyes horribly watch the air;
marked with a dark stroke from the left, encroached
Scrawny wolves, and you,
Dismal, endless plain?BR> Point, after all, when finally one reaches
And M?e Chose's square of world, even as they
Pallid waste where no radiant fathomers,
Empty streets I come upon by chance,
This gap in time, this season not their own,
they sit with their wives all day in the sun,
From which, thanks to symmetry,
It is as though I were at a second threshold.
Your red cheeks radiant against the wind,
Blurring the terrain,
Choces, M?e and P?e, undreaming even of fields
and the numbed yards will go back undercover.
Or else, like us, sunk into some long gaze