Author Information
Monday
The sun sits,
with its golden hair,
in front of my dusty window.
And my ears hear her sweet music:
Her hands dance softly
(on the black and white steps)
as her eyes see the color blue.
In her own space, peace whispers.
She turns to the golden sphere,
with water washing her cheek,
her eyes change, breathe, and banish
into the golden god.
These ears suffocate in silence,
and light has left the eyes.
Looking down I notice, not a man,
but a broken child.
- Alejandro Bonfil
