Pájaros de Arcilla

The bony attire of the street
Will be filled with clay birds,
Who runs and where this morning,
Who will change the edge of the immense sky.

Metallic words, dead verses
Raise the scaffolding, clean channels
Who runs and where this morning,
Who will change the edge of the immense sky.

...And there in the high blooming treetops
I hear your song again, my brother.