The days

are sad and desolate, like late afternoon.

The passing birds

are equal to the trains,

always passing

over the cold parallel metal

of horizontal stairs.

And on the street

where I pass,            

my friend Jorge Eduardo

lies warm and dead.

I cannot touch him,

someone is watching.

I keep passing.

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Symphony. Montréal: The Muses Co., 1988.

ISBN 0919754-12-0  &  ISBN 0919754-10-4