agua

¿Podría ser verdad que la lluvia
sea las lágrimas de Dios?

Cuando llora Dios,
se pinta la tierra verde y
se crea una obra de arte

Colinas onduladas de hierba
ríos que fluyen con fuerza
aves mojadas con plumas brillantes 

¿Qué le hace llorar, Dios?

Mire la belleza
esta naturaleza muerte
llena de nueva vida

Mientras me baño 
en las lágrimas de Dios
encuentro pureza de nuevo



Central Park Summer

City starts to slow like a stalled train
Strawberry fields and sailboat ponds
Skyscrapers painted on blue canvas
Belly laughs carried on a soft breeze
Golden halos and sun-kissed eyelids
Grass stains on a yellow sundress
Beaded sweat like a summer baptism
Born again this lazy afternoon

untitled

you prefer to cause pain
so you don't feel it yourself
your words bite down
penetrating the skin I tried
to make thick, thicker
your venom seeps into
my veins deep, deeper

once an elixir sweeter than syrup
gasping for every last drop
now a poison I willingly drank
corroding, eroding, eating at my insides 
no antidote in sight

white knuckles grip a dull blade
you saw through heartstrings grown thin
across borders, over time
like a rubber band pulled taut
stretched, stretching, on the verge of breaking
snaps, snapping again and again
yet only one of us is left scathed...

...the one writing letters and poems
few sent, many idle
my pen knows your name too well
my ink runs dry, drier
an oasis now barren
cast in your silent shadow

burying hurt in anonymous bodies
I close my eyes and pretend it's you
fingers trace my spine, eyes fix on mine
you plead with me not to go
but you would, you did

a slow-burning match
quivering flame and splintering wood
charring pinched fingertips.
a black cloud drowning my lungs
smoking, choking, struggling to breathe

you left me speaking in tongues
similes and metaphors and analogies
clinging to cliches to make sense of it all
there's comfort in knowing others have hurt like this before
how many others have you hurt like this before?