The Lingering Wound • poems by Simon Anton Niño Diego Baena

Random Things

I discovered a moth flattened on the page of Robert Bly’s, Silence in the Snowy Fields. I never tried to remove the tiny thing, I let the insect savor eternity. The door of summer opened, and pigeons perched on my shoulders. “Half of the story is true”, grandma told me, whispering like a starling; I never believed it, but I listened. For days I tracked the elephants deep in the humming forest, finding a hearth where the fire first started.