The Boy With a Small Bundle   In rubble, beneath the infinite roosters of bread, dwelled the boy with a small bundle. She loved him. On Sundays he went out. And when he came to the bridge made of tiger’s fur, titmice were already sleeping. Does anyone live here? he asked. Does anyone live here? he asked again. There was no answer. He drank his crumbs and milk and absorbed himself in thoughts. Maybe the sun is the son of the devil. Maybe animals love dough. Maybe in Spain slaves and grasshoppers who like to race on camels grow on…