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Liliana,
from her post at the doorway
between the kitchen
and the living room,
smiles and wonders
at his innocent beauty. |
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He is no more
than eleven years old.
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He is small and skinny.
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His skin is very brown
and his hair is very smooth,
straight and black. |
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He has the soft skin and the elongated face,
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but most of all,
he has the quiet pride
of the Andean heights,
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the wide open spaces
where the world
goes on forever |
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and there are no true surprises |
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as everything is clear, |
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visible and present, |
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and it comes out through his eyes, |
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his hand movements, |
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his facial gestures and his music, |
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the lovely music that now pours |
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out of the thin little flute |
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that he holds against his lips. |
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