Thursday, July 23, 2015



I am lost, and without words.
The family transports 6 million pieces 
of angst into every room. Harbors grudges.
I cannot cope with their collective trauma, 
but I am not bitter, perhaps bittersweet.
Only the iron tracks of the train
will beg to defer to derailment. 
Last night I watched a constellation
dazzle the horizon with light.
The silver center of the Milky Way
was a talisman. My sorrow, forgotten.
I was a lone candle by the river,
flickering in the summer breeze.
The ears of the night were listening
to coyotes under a full moon. I dreamt
there were rivers of singing stones.
The Apurimac's Andean tears
wept in glaciers, creating pigment
with the tumbled rhythm of stones.

July 23, 2015
rev. 11/19/15

Something found on my iPad. I don't remember writing it. So I rewrote it.

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