Octavio Paz (March 31, 1914 – April 19, 1998 / Mexico City)
Your hair is lost in the forest,
your feet touching mine.
Asleep you are bigger than the night,
but your dream fits within this room.
How much we are who are so little!
Outside a taxi passes
with its load of ghosts.
The river that runs by
Will tomorrow be another day?
Comments about this poem (Last Dawn by Octavio Paz )
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