By William Woolf, France (Published in Issue 10)

María

Let’s fly, away,

but where?

No feathers, nor planes,

empty steps have come and gone,

yet my feet did not move.

Fly, no things,

Us alone,

Like leaves, and dust and hours,

erase,

Those many eyes,

and drink with me,

new water.

My shoes don’t know of paths,

My shoes, torn and broken,

Useless.

And you shall laugh, kiss,

Under,

…María,

Turned in new winter.

William Woolf was born in France to a Swiss mother and an English father. At the age of 18 he traveled to Denmark to study at Copenhagen University, upon graduating from medical school, his humanitarian spirit led him to volunteer in Mogadishu. Besides medicine, William's other passion was literature, words always kept him company and on the day that he was killed during the fighting of May 15th 2011, a book of "Poetry from Latin America" was found on his pocket. William was 27 years old when he died.