“Pies para qué los quiero si tengo alas para volar.”
– Frida Kahlo
Green bird flies over
reddish fields
Hunter sees it falling
Never missing the target
Like rawness of fox life
hunter holds on to the dead
tree
Green bird flies over
whitish fields
while the hunter dreams
and sleeps
So beautiful but so afraid
of rampant looks clicking
The hang-on-pictures didn’t
work like crazy
to show lovely safety
Maybe that the hunters
are aiming and too many
as the walk tries to be free
The nest is safe now
Green bird flies over
blueish fields
while dreams of joy
fly too
(For P.)
chameleonian times 