In the Middle of August, I Saw the Sky
Original illustration by Pedro Gomes One morning, on a wet day during the week, in which I had sharpened my cutlass from dark till dawn, braving for the stubbornness of wet leaves, for the wet branches the farm path, snatching at legs, saying in their quiet voices, there is no where you can escape from life, there is no where you can escape from the resurrection of dead things.
