His Toy Burnt
God was playing with his toys
when he accidently grabbed Chamaco,
broke one of Chamaco’s wheels,
bent Chamaco’s nose of spring and summer.
Chamaco didn’t hold a grudge,
the power of playfulness suffice,
stood still, fell over,
nothing became of otherwise.
And God’s incandescence
flamed out in the sky so bright.
Chamaco’s soul of holy rocks
heavy in his old age hung on,
brown scar of having been manhandled by God
only a scar upon the sweet horizon.