I found you
In my skin,
Rushing through
Like blood of a
Fresh cut that is
Bound to heal,
as the trees
Gently extend
Their hand
for the wind
That just asked
them for a dance,
I tremble among
The branches,
Ignored
Behind every
Leaf of a
Flourishing tree

Oh, my everything,
How my heart
Has been forgotten,
Waiting to be claimed
And hold you
By the waist,
Pull you close
Enough for only
The space in between
The words and the
Light of the moon
To go in between us,

But the rivers
Did not form,
It wasn’t enough rain,
And I remain,
Like a small tower
That falls apart
With time,
Devoured by the
Fauna,
Even if it falls,
I’ll still remain,
Like unending
Light,
Or cave windows
That open to
A valley of gold
Covered by
Bougainvillea
Shrubs,
With a chilling
breeze to
Keep me company.

Es tanto,
Lo que eh callado,
Muchos espacios
Entre palabras
Que bajan
Las nubes a tus
Pies para
Acolchonar el
Piso que caminas,
Y con un bulto
De rayos de sol,
Camino para
Cuando tus dias
Caigan desvelados
Y la noche mucho
Más oscura de lo normal
Esconda tu sonrisa
Entre las sombras
Y la angustia
Abrirlo y alegrarte
Con la calor de
Un sábado
En donde las
Lluvias descansan
Y los pájaros cantan
Entre la gente
Libre de un día
Más de trabajo.

It's a good time
Hanging with animals,
Because there is no social pressure.
They merely love to live,
That is their pleasure.
There are no missed interpretations,
No alternate agendas;
Alive at nature's leisure

If I had one wish,
Just one,
It would be
To be eternal,
Immortal,
Soaking in
Life as I play
With the water
And drink
From the fountain
Of youth
That with one
Sip pulls back
My skin and
Opens my
Arteries all
While the
Forrest inside
My lungs oxygenates
And purifies
The atmosphere,
I hope I learn to
Forgive myself,
That I will be
Reborn with
Some discipline,
An undying wouldn’t
Dare be tormented
And punished,
He would love,
Unbranded,
Unconditional,
The type of love
That teaches you
How to live,
oh, to feel
That type
Of love again
In between
War and plague,
And death,
That now walks
Attached to the hip,
Of someone that
Has learned to let go.

I moved a lot when I was a kid,
5 different Houses in the midst
of humid heat, and if I could
Open each door one by one
With bronze, silver and second hand
Keys, i don’t know which one
I could call home.

My first house,
Built tall in wood, a two story
Without the first floor
Or a tree house without the tree,
The curving stairs left so many,
Bruises on my legs and arms,
But still it would call to me,
I would fall asleep in other
Peoples houses and I would
Wake up, amazed at the embrace,
Of those wooden walls
And creaking floors.

I remember moving down
The street to my second home,
Deeper into the barrio,
My uncle and his friend
Carried my swing set,
And my mom walked in
Front with trails of fire adorning
Her feet, and a look in her
Eyes screamed “so one,
Help me please”

Finally, with sweat rolling
Down my chin under
The glaring sun,I notice
A Frankenstein of a house
That hid behind quenepa trees,
The fence was crooked,
The gate scraped the concrete
Floor, a hollow concrete
House with so much to tell,
But so little to show,
The gloominess and despair,
Inherited from my mom
Followed me from there on.

The third house was short lived,
How can a house full of people
Be so empty inside,
But it would smell like coffee
During the day and during the night,
With a cigarette blanket in the back,
And bbq weekends when the rain
Didn’t bother to show up,
I saw waterfalls rush my moms
Eyes on cold morning calls,
And quiet rides,
The silence was deafening,
As if it ran through the open
Windows with knifes
Trying to take us off the
Road into the river
That flowed underneath
The highway on my way to school.

I wasn’t there much in my fourth
And fifth house, time passed
Faster when I wasn’t inside,
And when I was the ceiling,
Melted into the sky,
Letting the stars shine
Through, giving me
A little taste of outside.

In between everything,
And everyone,
I didn’t realize how
Much of myself I left behind.

The trees grow
And will keep
Growing old,
The minutes pass
Through them
Dying off at
61 seconds
Like a stem
Of bundled
Up geraniums
That waited
for the cold
To pass,
A corpse murdered,
Leaving only the
Skeleton of what
Was once loved,
Motionless with age,
And then comes the rain,
Washing away
Spilled blood,
Silence, rain,
Turning the ground
Into stone,
Where a river will
Run through,
Waving life
As butterflies emerge
From their cocoons,
Natural, a sign,
Like the light
That shines upon
The moon and
the moon shines
Upon us,
So much fog
Will dim it
So much
Like smoke
Breaking loose
From a fire,
In the woods
Nothing is certain
But the man living,
And eating,
And smiling,
Noticing that
The trees
Eat time.