you were born
from
destitute sigh
forged battle treaties
of resignation
death upon death
you are the hope
of a bouquet
repeated annually
by our graves
a signature in the making
the world already had ended
that is the terrible that had
already happened
you were born after
the world ended
and your home
makes pretense
to the equilibrium
of two in four
we bestow ourselves
huddled houses
as we breathe near our
liquid crystal display
screens
clothed in the radium
of bare-Baird aurora
if you dream in black and white
you live in colour
for home monochrome of
nycthemeron
is the librum of skin
that is the shining shin-sign
of life recaptured on waking
everyday
the little poems i plead
as requiem for childless
seed, this poiseme
and the words return
in bird huddle
another twist of the two in four
makes the welcome
enter and exit by the side gate
Ariel Riveros Pavez 
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