Under the lion's paw
my hesitant selves are
as my eyes contemplate
a flood of unaccustomed
thoughts.
These are days when I believe
in full-bloom flowers, perpetuating
abysmal feelings, cuddling delicate
tones of my sensibility.
I interpret the hands of the clock
crucified by some words, dilating
the dark, listening to the voice
of the sea as a wolf howls inside
of me fearing unobservable mysteries.
Under the lion's paw,
my hesitant selves are
and all of me remains
in fragments unheard,
unknown, unseen.
Karla Bardanza
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