( Note: due to internet outages, this poem comes 1 week after the event ).
Sunday morn in peace ~
lone, pieces fall together.
February snow.
Sunday day in pieces ~
e’en the tree I’ve known fore’er
falls dead.
Not so silly anymo’ ~
a fir’s yellow scarf.
Me dejaste aquí como un contorno de tiza
en la acera esperar para la lluvia lavarse, lavarse.
Sigues volviendo al lugar del crimen,
pero los muertos no pueda hablar y no queda nada decir, de todos modos.
Those were the words I heard in summer 2012,
when 1st I learned that no foundation keeps its build;
higher than 5 years following, you remind me
the prophesy forgotten fell fulfilled.
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