lunes, 11 de abril de 2016

I was on the back of a nightingale

Home fires were burning and the smoke stung our eyes; 
We were blind from birth, until that night. 

(Her Name Is Calla, I was on the back of a nightingale.)

I didn’t belong up top
and the sun was too bright anyway.

(Her Name Is Calla, The Roots Run Deep.)

Fotografías / Photos by: Marta Huguet.

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