Is it a face or bouquet of flowers
there on the threshold?
In the evening the smooth sound
of that imaginary flute throws everything
people’s voices, cars,
bewitched spirits in the dusk.
The eye goes from window to window:
Behold the leaves and birds,
Behold the lurching trains,
the sounds of the siren, the murmuring,
the frozen dreams in one’s hands
author: Rikardo Arregi Diaz de Heredia
title: Frozen Dreams