Habit, Old Habit: The Siesta (I) Poem by Raquel Angel Nagler

Habit, Old Habit: The Siesta (I)



O l d h a b i t : t h e s i e s t a (I)

In the garden of our years,
Its faded hammocks with the light sleep of the old,
We lie for a while
Above the pain of the ground.

* * *

The hours galloped on their glass horse of habit,
Their fragile silences
Circling, like sentinels,
The peril of untamed melancholy.

* * *

My evenings
Come back home to find their habits,
Like a sad little man
With the last tear of a salmon.

* * *

Mondays,
The child of eternal drizzle,
Wade in small puddles
Pulling my years on a string.

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