Soft words that have never spoken

Soft words that have never spoken
Inside the abandoned tennis shoe
Of a child….
On a Texas riverbank….

still warm imprint of Hotneh 
Steam rising
from its track
Howling across
The miraging rain….

torn white cloth of skin and fear
as a grey moth escaped from a torn nightmare

On concertina wire shining under a full moon….

We must begin the war drums
Again….

The dog soldier texts
Marina de Lesina 
August 13.19

Hotneh (wolf)

Sorrow is no longer a word

Sorrow is no longer a word….as sadness….
as loss….

They are no longer words
If you are brown……if you are the
Other….they have not been words for us
For a long time….
They exist with us….

Fear is a word to us….
It marks the path of our enemies….

They fear….
They are not like us…we can smell their dead souls….
Their empty shadows….

Colorless….
Alone…..

Dog soldier song
For El Paso
8/5/19

Dreams crossing a field of yellow flowers

Dreams crossing a field of yellow flowers
Names falling out of them as they pass…

Where the footprints of migrants…

Are etched in dried mud of human misery….

Between each word sung or spoken….
Screamed or begging….

A sacredness resounds
In the minuscule….

It’s rounded motion….

Speaking in its spirit voice….

Toward our inward yearning….

Lesina, Italy
Where the immigres toil in 100 degree temperatures
Picking tomatoes.

Here

Here

The child within us must awaken….
          Little shadow…..

Your smile the darkness under a leaf….
                       Color of your lovely eyes…..

We bring our prayers to release you from hunger
And fear….

We take your soft breath within ours…
                                             As the river weeps….

Your arm around your father…
                                            Forever….

For Oscar Alberto Martinez 
For Angie Valeria 

26 Jun 2019

What has arrived out of this silence

What has arrived out of this silence
Secretly kept….silence of tears…

Silence of years….

The one who has slept to waken to the shining you
Left behind….

A shining so pure so alone….
Standing now by an ancient road
Made of blood and stone….

This glass dream that sounds of rain falling….

This dim recognition
Where emptiness folds itself into everything…

The sacred

Watching from a distance….

Edges 
November 18,18

the river sings

The river sings….as always
As all rivers….
The ones who nurture it…

It remembers you

In its flowing canticles of joy
It carries the grief of all who suffer for it

You who have bathed in it
Anointed now by its one prayer for you….

It flows for the ones who have no voice….

Their silence eternal…

Healing the broken shadows of man….

For the water protectors of standing rock

25 November 16