View of A Lizard
Poem by Roy G. Guzmán

May 30, 2013

From inside my room
I see the side the lizard doesn’t

fully reveal to others
without, first, building a stronger

acquaintance. At 5 o’clock
a cloud is stuck between the lizard’s

claws while it moves awkwardly,
the cloud malformed.

The reptile exits from
the ribcage of a palm tree,

the tree
made of glass, hundreds of feet

from electrical conundrums.
On a tightrope,

the lizard can’t tell whether the ground
is a means for exploring new places

or another Jurassic era.
When it crawls beyond the window,

I see the sky.
Inside my room,

a child sucks on his thumb.
This is how we tell we’re not each other.

 

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