Ángeles Nunca Corren

September 22, 2010
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A Silken,
swarthy complexion
beneath
ebony ringlets
pressing deep and thoughtful lines of
soft severity
neither words of entitlement nor adoration are conveyed

A balletic glide
that hastens not
at the sound of bell, nor at the sight of welcomed beckonings

Eyes fixed deep into the carving are

ever outreaching
A sculpture, as immobile as a pair of wings





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