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
Topic(s) of this poem: animal
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8/28/2026 9:54:57 AM # rel_20260827T145718Z_a0f1bd3
