In Koschiusko Poem by Sebastian Soberania

i pass by one of those
stone houses in Kosciusko
and i've seen there little puppies by the window
yelping or perhaps asking for food
or perhaps looking for their bitch
that gives them milk,

and i begin to think of my three little boys
in Segovia
separated by time
the demands of work
misunderstanding with their mother
our poverty not just in spirit
but in money

i get more stones to throw to the river
counting how many times will it hit the surface
things, i agree, happen
and i must attribute no meaning at all

back to work, this mind is wandering.