It is.
It was not.
The volcano was collapsing.
What was happening,
and what wouldn\'t happen.
I didn\'t want you to be
lost among my poems.
The window weeps.
Moon won\'t come to sit
on the palm tree in the
sight of a lonely pen.
Death comes on tiptoes
for the flamingo,
stranding in meditation.
A pack of wolves was waiting.
Who will pay
for speaking the truth?