Chicano Poet

Wednesday, December 18, 2013

The River

you become the river which floods me
my land hanging on by a thread
my stars already fallen
and tarnished

your ripples made of glass
I see inside of you
in a love-book I've read
and handled in the dark before

when the floodwaters recede
everything falls back into place
humming and covered in river pebbles


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