from Mi sin Manitos: The Girl Without Hands
Dark and quiet el abizmo of trees cradles the last hint of moonlight. The distant howls raddle Triste asleep in mother’s bosom. El Ángel de María casts a shadow, a circle of stone refracts a cottage, mi sin manitos blinks, the mirage of hope dissipates as she reaches the door. Above the entry a plaque foiled in moss reads aquí all dwell free. El ángel opens the door.