El Pescador

I am the mountain enclosing her.

Endlessly surrounding her water maze,

I breathe harder and shake to void her

to an Earth less pathetic, more than me.

It is possible that you are the fish under the bridge.

I am the fisherman walking over you,

I need a new way to catch you

and throw you back as I please.

Aimless.

She looks for the opening

somewhere near

the bottom. Failure to achieve this

may cause a life of wonder,

a life uneased.

But she does not look for the answers

because she’ll slowly find a way.

We Ran This World

Where do we go from this point in which

we sit so miserably, facing each other

gracelessly, because of the lack of remembrance

of a time, when we stood atop a buried hill

at some ocean-side piece of land,

more hidden than what was shared

at that moment in time?

A carelessness that was more beautiful than you could ever know.

A lack of direction that put two on a podium

causing ire by everyone who stared.

We loved it: A final year to parade atop the world.

Wind blew your hair to pieces

that won’t leave my mind,

until you die, or I forget,

neither will occur.

Paloma

A tradition of Siena goes for centuries.

Perhaps, a quintessential Italian grape.

The limey clay it springs from

makes it just right for the first course.

Some detect a note, but I often catch the elusive apple,

Made to keep intact,

One of the most seductive of the year:

an aroma and flavor suggestive of an early May morning.

We Are Not Yet Free

And I begin with the eyes of a man

So broken, so tired!

From his feet, torn up from the marching of the distance

Necessary for respect, to his lips, that he slaps his tongue across to wet them,

To get more voice to keep speaking.

For this man loves another man, but to you he’s a sinner?

When do you draw the line between a murderer of a human and a lover of another?

I’ll do it now to keep distinction between the hurtful and the amorous.

This man, is not yet free to do what he wants. 

20 Years

Two people hid

under a desk for twenty years,

while the sun snuck and shined

the truth up against

their faces. Painted in red,

they continued into the closet.

Soundproofed, their mouths

made no noise in the long run.

But for nearly as long as we slept,

they were forced to stare at the flash,

to look over their backs,

until the next day,
when they disguised each other.