The Lingering Wound • poems by Simon Anton Niño Diego Baena

Listening to Chopin’s Nocturnes

The cicadas shed their shells in the summer,
where I find a man
sobbing in the room
father has not quite abandoned.

I never understand why
this image recurs
in my sleep when I listen
to Chopin’s Nocturne op. 9 no. 2

He must know things
about the mystery
that I do not.

I only feed the crows
and gather the remaining years
of life, watching the sunset
with the moon rising
to darken my windows again.