Soy conciente de este aliento
de mi alma
Estoy viendo patos silvestres
en el cemeterio
la celebracion de vuelo
y ser libre
iluminando un cortazon salvaje
los tiempos para el padre

My fingers are cold.

It's been a long time since

solace has found me in the woods

wandering with palms turned up

turning brown dead leaves crunch 

leaving my countenance soft

leaving bread-crumbs of prayers

scattered on the forest floor for future spring-time flowers.

My fingers are warm.

It's been a long time since 

solace has found me

over a steaming pot 

of family tradition

welcoming vows with palms turned down

ancestral spirits living in steam.

In my garden I am

watching bouncing Bees

Riding on the breeze of selfish motivation.

My flower,

she gets nothing but a charming vibration

From a low and lusting Bee

His hips trembling

tongue wagging

eyes like a teenage Dog.

The space around my head becomes dense

I notice a black Cat crouching

licking his lips

swaying his hips

eyes like a shiny shell

A sterling Starling stops talking and

takes a moment to peer over a leaf

at the flower in my garden

bewailing about the Bee

Black feathers on a small sandy tongue.

Penchant Leaf shutters and

I blame it on a passing breeze.

Any excuse to use

my heavy human mind.

You can tell a lot about a person

watching them eat

watermelon

When I eat watermelon

I am a witness

To my own God.

When I eat watermelon

I think about the best

things

When I eat

watermelon.