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your earflaps droop
as the skies weep down
the very roots of trees
that breathe the lament of cicadas.
i ponder at the grass
its cool ecstatic green
a reprieve from vaguenesses
the sight of you infects me with.
i wonder if you ever find yourself
dreaming of absent suns,
or if that gloom in your eyes
is yours indeed
or mine.

(1987)

barbara barquez ricafrente, monologues and other poems