Author: Carmen Millán Lara | room on the roof
the echo of dogs
in the backyards |
Author: Cristina Rascón | on the blue sea
like dead whales
two black rocks |
Author: Agustín Haro y Tamariz | The black sapote makes me think
that I am eating, in the daytime
and in pieces, the night |
Author: Israel Balan | traffic sign—
the fallen leaves move
in the opposite direction |
Author: Alfredo Ávalos | War drum
the fertile half moon
a basin of blood |
Author: Rocío Rebecca Lannon-Lee | The tiny magnifying glass
the butterfly needs
to observe the flower |
Author: Rubén García García | the sapodilla falls
frightened the thrushes
flee and cry out |
Author: Javier Tinajero | In Spring
all dreams open
like flowers. |
Author: Miguel Garza | on the cement
the bee swigs from
the jacaranda flower |
Author: Susana Dorantes Herrera | fallen leaves
and cigarette butts have gathered
in the potholes |
Author: Enrique Villanueva Guevara | the rain stops
a stray dog
shakes itself off |
Author: Jorge Santoyo Luquin | One walker
following Buddha’s steps
in a lotus flower. |
Author: Rubén Pesquera Roa | The panther’s skin
was upholstered
with new moons |
Author: Rebecca Bowman | the earwig
how many hours captive
in this bowl |
Author: Maximiliano Souza | A nomadic cloud
always forgets its drops
on my window |
Author: Amélie Olaiz | The buzzards,
from the antenna, watch
the sunset |
Author: José Rubén Romero | Day of gold
The lariat closes its question mark
around the bull’s horns |
Author: Carlos López Moctezuma | The prickly pear and the
porcupine cross
stabbing looks |
Author: José Juan Tablada | Tender willow
almost gold, almost amber
almost light . . . |
Author: Francisco Monterde | In the smooth curve
of hills
dark flesh undulates. |
Author: Carlos Gutiérrez Cruz | Pelican.
Porcelain coffee pot
floating on the water. |
Author: Alfonso Reyes | Light skin of cloud
where a splinter
of moon is impaled. |
Author: José Gorostiza | Sometimes
I feel the need to cry,
but the sea does it for me. |
Author: Jaime Torres Bodet | You will cry soon.
The sky already becomes
small in your eyes. |
Author: Octavio Paz | If man is dust
those that wander across the plain
are men |
Author: Juan Cervera | The falling leaf
dreams it is — for an instant —
a wing and a wave |
Author: Elva Macías | Sunflower
even when torn from its stem
still attends to the sun’s course. |
Author: Gabriela Rábago Palafox | Like a black cat
the night awakens itself
little by little |
Author: Arturo González Cosío | Torrential rain.
Afterwards the green
skin of the frog. |
Author: Olga María del Carmen Ortega Charles | House without doors
dead leaves rain
on the roof. |
Author: Ramón Iván Suárez Caamal | At water’s edge
supple reeds
trap these words. |