The poem that I am

I am a board

where

maybe

a poem was written

and now

there is just a shadow

 

I am the petals

of a cherry tree

falling

as I were the feathers

of a spring bird

dying

 

I am the map

with all the rivers

of a country

that reminds me

a park

with undressed branches

 

I am the broken umbrella

that was abandoned

at the vertex

of a sidewalk

after the last rain

of April

 

Sometimes the bell rings

and I am that kid

who decided

to spend school break

looking through

the classroom window

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