Carlos Aganzo, Spain, 1962
Seeds Is the open house.
smells like morning sun. Sign
from every pore of my being clean air day
freshly cut. Anda
spring, unruly, threading
everything
flowers on the stones, the air
colors,
my hand on your waist,
my mouth with your mouth
this air jubilantly drinking lush
of spikes. ..
my skin is open. Smells like love
morning.
I look in the corners of the house
to fly with this whirlwind of seeds
to loop around the sun.
And the air is shaken.
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