A man’s soul is worth different weights
depending upon his remembered homeland
The disappeared are always against forgetting
The salsa of the volcano in remembered countries
Is both the flower and the trigger points of politics,
the blind road of the revolution
Is that which separates us, cleaving us
in the name of religion, politics and gender
We are undressing the day minute by minute
But the relentless sea churns and devours the cliffs
And we are left with nothing but tenuous handholds
Saving everything for the warriors of the sun
Singing at the edge of the tides.
Found in a Pages doc dated 9/15/15
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