Writing Poem by José Manuel Arango
Writing
night, like an animal
left its breath on my window
between the needles of the cold
I look at the trees
and in the misty glass
with my index finger, I write
this ephemeral word
Translation: 2005, Nicolás Suescún
Wednesday, August 9, 2017
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12/27/2025 10:48:14 AM # 1.0.0
