TOM WAITS WATERCOLOR digital painting by Michael Forbus MY LITTLE BIRD With my little terrestrial bird, my rustic earthen jug, I break out singing the guitar's rain: alleged autumn arrives like a load of firewood, decanting the aroma that flew through the mountains, and grape by grape my kisses were joined to her bunch. This proves that the afternoon accumulated sweetness like the amber process or the order of violets. Come flying, passanger, let's fly with the coals, live or cold, with the disorderly darkness of the obscure and the ardent. Let's enter the ash, let's move with the smoke, let's live by the fire. In mid autumn we'll set the table over the grassy hillside, flying over Chillan with your guitar in your wings. AUTHOR PABLO NERUDA