Birds nest in my arms,
on my shoulders, behind my knees,
between my breasts there are quails,
they must think I’m a tree.
The swans think I’m a fountain,
they all come down and drink when I talk.
When sheep pass, the pass over me,
and perched on my fingers, the sparrows eat,
the ants think I’m earth,
and men think I’m nothing.
Gloria Fuertes, translated by Philip Levine