Carmen Giménez Smith

(1971 / New York City)

Only a Shadow

My daughter gathers the seeds she finds in our desert, calls them
spirits — the spirits are us, she says when I worry those orbs in my fingers

to conjure her birth. The wind's first thought is to craft those seeds:
vessels when the tree worries she's not enough of a multiplicity,

that she will burn into the cosmos. The cosmos is no thought, no worry,
more than us, but less than wind, and the wind is only the infinite,

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