The dreams warned us, but no one wanted to listen

The dreams warned us, but no one wanted to listen

Marite Camacho

It was midday in San Miguel de Tucumán,
from a window on some floor — it was the fourteenth.
A sound made me turn my eyes to the north,
a crack was drawing itself, in a rush,
and the roaring noise stunned me.

I saw it, …

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