A child-
still not an exile
nor a failed bard-
is skipping ropes
at sunset
in his native suburb
called Sueño
(another kid
under the shade
of a flowering mango tree
still expects his father
from a far-off war
like a dog mourning
its master by his grave)
A red sun hungs
on the sea-scented horizon
glittering like a goldfish
in a plastic bag.
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