Summer Landscape

After he shot up,
a taste like that of a black magic woman

filled the back of his throat.
At that moment---

he was not an addict anymore,
shunned by family and friends,

who had no money to give him,
who guarded their personal possessions

when he was around.
At that moment---

he was sailing silver hills,
flying as if he was the gutsy barrio sky,

the cool breeze
danced inside the summer leaves

of the tantalizing trees in his head
uprooted just now

tossed into the dirty
and dusty San Antonio River,

whose innards
harbored no ill will towards friend or foe.

That sweet taste
fading now.