Insomnia born from a seed of water
The blackbird nesting in the hem of my skirt,
the snowdrops that whiten my hair,
the blind cat stalking sparrows in the thicket of my eyebrows
and the artesian fountain that springs from my pocket,
all are the offspring of my grandmother
whom I remember
kneading bread dough,
young
I might think the orchard she bequeathed me
is a land where happiness reigns,
but you know that the plums revolted
and demanded their right to free love and jazz.… Read the rest