The love child of sparrows and curmudgeon trees,
how we envied their roots, dull and deep,
a massively braided tumor two feet
it was all we could see
when we were children in the hurricane
how easily sparrows resettle and the pauraque
too among us, wings of dead leaves, hidden.
The heart of a hatchling
is yellowed ivory, its eyes
hard currency, its tends toward
nullity, an unrepentant soul.
One day I too will disappear
into overflowing ashtrays and
in ten-peso shops.
It has the ability to fly but prefers to run,
feed off the mosquitos of the river’s edge.
Sirens sound and crush its fragile bones.
Its blood soaks my bare sole, and I do not
dare the river, I do not dare