Build A Horizonal Slatted Fence

Schatten ... FROM THE UNCERTAINTY

Luis Alberto Battaglia, Argentina

Sometimes, in the face of the flood,
remember the fishermen of their childhood;
are created moment by merely
wind and shadows.
The distant neighbors
dance their dreams
like lightning. Here

dormant beneath the starry sky I wonder

to the archaic character of fear, hatred
,
weariness.
Just a question perhaps
and how the fishermen
I dive into the lips of the night.

Here as there, in the thousand years of sea

does the word
the miracle of the difference, say words to
:

it once was a dream.

Born in Buenos Aires, 1959. Owner, editor, director and webmaster of
http://www.battaletras.com.ar/ ex http://home.ar.inter.net/pagina,
http://www.lapluma-nin.com, http : / / www.battaletras.com,
http://www.lahormydoc.com and http://www.lahormydoc.com/avisos-gratis/index.htm;
director and host of http://ar.groups .yahoo.com / group / paginantes
with virtual workshop.
owners, managers and blog master of http://paginantes.blogspot.com.

What Is The Biggest Kipling Backpack

Leonel Robles, México

(Two pieces)

I stop images. Peel
one by one all the similarities do not understand
and build the routine.
My father is apparent from the dead branches in a simulation to reconstruct
fear.
The trunk is now the hero of the story.
The vigor of the trees is marked by the four arms of the compass.
A minute of identity in each prayer, the idol barefoot.
My father was about his age and harden the landscape.
I can not avoid his gaze, and I know you think
in life.
My father is the son of Pan long looking back
symmetry
as if the data, dates, genealogy representation
is suddenly revealed
and they had their way the world of me, you, us.
But he knows a fateful detention, denial, rejection
,
punishment upon your head will keep
in memory of others.
I follow my journey with a new sentence
my hands.
I travel.
watch the world before me, I keep
branches following my steps, to save the

the return trip.
My eyes are filled with so much light and fresh
hung suspended.
leave my archipelagos

my angel mask and cursing the closeness of the night
because I have not said anything that can be explained.
The man was not born yet,
is only the air wing that will come to ply
.
I seek, I return, I am elemental phosphorus
─
night of the birth of the night. Outside
speak of other than
untouchable

with cracked tracks that grow uncontrollably the distance between the edge
and my beginning.
More moisture is black light,
but inside I am, my circumstances,
light is only a matter of crossing the two edges
to reach me a candle
anchored.

Leonel Robles, was born in Sola de Vega, Oaxaca, in 1964.
has written short stories, poetry and criticism major literary magazines and newspapers
Mexico. He won the poetry contest of the Faculty of Sciences UNAM
policies. Author of poetry collections
Exiles of age, benefit from light, Praise
Corps and confessed and Crime anthologies of stories and poems.
currently preparing a book of poetry and the novel temporal Paradise The
dilettante.