Exodus

I see it standing so alone,
the house of doña Candelaria.
The gabled roof
gives way beneath the weight of abandonment.
I can understand what they felt,
those who lived there.
Furrows scored by the plow
along the narrow path,
sown fields for the cattle
and the echo with neither body nor lowing.
The trees, weary,
shake off the silence like an aged dust.
The disenchantment in their veins
still awaits the fluttering of birds...
and the wind
still awaits the morning trilling
to join the symphony.