THE TIME OF BIRDS Poem by Luz Mary Giraldo
THE TIME OF BIRDS
Ungraspable and sewing
the word
covers with a deceiving cloth
the wound of night:
plays at freedom
or dreams of fortune.
As an eternal Penelope
she knits a tunic for all
she removes the basting of the secret of waiting
until she invents a new face
or a nameless mirror.
Ungraspable and sewing
she listens to the wind passing by
fatigued on account of the birds.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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2/27/2026 3:03:44 PM # 1.0.0
