By the time the first crow
pushes its cawing into my ears
the crumbs of the morning
is already scattered on my carpet.
Today we’ll vacuum the hollowness.
While cleaning my burrows
I always sink in my sneezes.
I am allergic to dust and to
the procedure of hush their
glistening murmur.
«Go. Ask the crow about the weather. «
My mother would have said.
A flash flood wipes out the structures
of my memory. Its artifacts
gather blue and green beneath the surface.
LatinosUSA 
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