Chicano Poet

Monday, March 12, 2012

The Lake

My lake daughter comes to me
in a hungry hollow dream

there is room
for the derelict confetti

her mother’s fire
was a white thorn

led astray
tassels on the moon

bite-marks on water
I tell my daughter

in giant letters
rise up over the wall

the jealousy quite lost
with golden keys

your sweetness once disowned me
like a storm


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