Poems are birds that arrive
No one knows where and how they land
In the book you read.
When you book the book, they take flight
Like a trapdoor.
They have no landing
Nor harbor;
Feed for a moment in each
Pair of hands and depart.
And look, then, these empty hands,
No wonder amazement of knowledge
That their food was already in you ...
Mario Quintana
Photo take by me
Wonderful week everyone
My contribuiton to the #colorchallenge by 