The old man fell
to his knees
with no hopes
to rise again

there he
sank into his dreams
upon the desert floor
of his youth

Where in the absense
of abundance
throughout a lifetime
nothing grew

All the poets tell
of the glory
of his youth
But like
all great stories go
there comes
the time of bitter truth ,

"No one heard
his dying words."

I lay on my bed
of "Noche negra" desires
and out of kindness
I imagine
the way that
I wanted it to be
Not the way it was

Now somewhere
in the shadows of
Mexico
In the desiccating
Texas heat
lay the bones
in memoriam

Too big for
a monument
Too forgotten
to cenotaph
rest the bones
of immortal time
Blasted
by persistent winds
Bleached
by unforgiving sun
his soul rests
Clean and free