Involucres

birds fly unaware of the danger of the weather. from their perspective they may not realize the roofs that shelter us cloistered trapped in wooden or cement crates from above the birds follow, without knowing the ordinary and corrosive parade of days sabotaging and turning into trash both dreams and desires of human generations believed to have been chosen the birds didn't feel every sunset of this and other millennia the scent of goodbye welling up from the shadows and if later they saw in the avenues the glare of aimless car headlights didn't even understand that this is just another one of the ways that men have to escape their individual apocalypses it was some old cold afternoon that the birds have given up on understanding the span of their wings and the reason for their lives the origin of the impulse that took them to fly it was on an afternoon just like this long, cold and inhospitable that the birds beat their wings hard and flew looking to just be