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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8/29/2026 10:07:33 PM # rel_20260827T145718Z_a0f1bd3
