we're not a wolf in sheep's clothing
just coyotes
pretending to be the wolf
once stray desert dogs
trying to be more
oddly enough
it gets colder out there
being alone
at the top

I like to go back and kiss the good parts
not goodbye
just to have a taste again
not on the ugly scars
but the places you've been
out of your way
into curiosity
back where you knew
with your heart
the unknown
might be fun
might hurt
but it was all worth
the surprise

creation
nature
clouds
sounds
architecture
raging sunsets
dancing flames
broken reflections
running crashing water
movements of wonderful bodies
visual dept of the vast marvelous mountains
the breathe taken away from me out of appreciation
in complete shock of how beautiful things can be in this world


yet I wonder...
why don't I look at myself like that?

when I was in Japan,
I reached in my bag for yen,
I drew a coin with the Zia on it
given to me by a gem
as I stared at the cold breezy mountains of Japan holding this, I  was reminded of
The deep Roots of cracked hot concrete I would work out on
The smell of albondigas Nana would be making
The bright yellow and blue tile mismatched on the lining of the kitchen
The simpleness of living in a "this'll work" architecture
the tumbleweeds, the dry cacti landscape, vast dirt reaching to the dark amber mountains, painted with fading perfect blend from the sunset, homemade meals, la raza, tias and tios, the stray cats and dogs (and family pet names)

My Arizona desert was so hot that everything did its best to share being in the Cool casted shadows.

yet here I was in the complete opposite wishing for that sun
holding this coin brought be back to when you thought I would Judge where you were from
but your "Land of Enchantment" will always remind me of being one step closer to home...

and I thought I spoke delicious words?
yet here you are,
making me come back for thirds.
sweet as blueberries on a beautiful breezy sunny day
one by one, devouring every word you say.
the sentences glimmer, they are rare, rememberable yet short
& reading your name is like watching a butterfly float around me
brings peace,
pauses time,
takes me back to myself,
(with sincerity of course)
you make me ******* own words.

why not let out the ideas in your head before you die?
so it can live on
and you can go peacefully.
but what is this pool of ideas in my head?
What if I drain it out?
What if I let it out So Much that I have nothing left of me...
?!
maybe that's the point.
there won't BE nothing left of you.

So, You let it out Until you die.

In a world full of moving souls
behind perspective eyes
I looked for you.

and it hit me:
Even when I was with you
I could not find you..
you NEVER let me FIND YOU.
In the end and tomorrow,
I will always look for you.
every time I see a resemblance
I am a dog looking for a ball with his ears up
having a little hope that it is YOU,

but no
no one is you.
no one will ever be what I looked for in you.