XI / Miyó Vestrini


Enter the vigil of delirium,
the slow scream,
the fearsome resentment.
And though I may not recognize you then
I’ll wait
for the glass box with the nightingale inside,
the weeping that explodes under the aloe plants,
an evening,
anything that might bring us together,

El invierno próximo (1975)

{ Miyó Vestrini, Todos los poemas, Caracas: Monte Ávila Editores, 1994 }

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