We talk like petty traders
selling trinkets on the sidewalk.
There’s no light in our eyes,
not even a recall of the big dream.
We would abandon the ship
at the first sign of returning winter,
should the frost kiss
the buds of our blooming fruit trees.
We don’t know that archangels
prevent most disasters,
except a couple of earthquakes
once in a lifetime,
which are meant to bring peace
closer to our heart –
that place we can’t find anymore,
unless our city falls into pieces
under the sky full of stars.