Son of Man
Have you stopped breathing your dreams?
That dull roots of spring rain
Full of falling clever stars
What the roots that clutch,
New branches grow
Out of the astounded rubbish
Son of man’s prayer
Where the sun beats
A heap of broken images
A different shadow
Under the red rock
the horizon is full of violets in dance
where hyacinths are varnishing the throne
in the forgotten light of the sunset
there full hands are feeding empty hours
With dead sounds in the head
During the sudden frost of the night.
Copyright-Susana Roberts
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