Para La Libertad

For freedom I bleed, fight, survive. For freedom, my eyes and my hands, like a fleshy tree, generous and captive, I give to the surgeons. For freedom I feel more hearts than sands in my chest: my veins foam, and I enter hospitals, and I enter cotton like in lilies. Because where empty sockets dawn, she will place two stones of future gaze and will make new arms and new legs grow in the hewn flesh. They will sprout winged with sap without autumn, relics of my body that I lose in every wound. Because I am like the felled tree, that sprouts: I still have life.