Between two waters

we write our prerogatives & model our calendars after great

world artists, the sushi softly pressed to the soy, the wine glass stain dried red, crumbs on the snow carpet. all this time

falling down this rabbit hole,
of us,                    we are grateful
scarred,  questioning,   right,    wrong
having seen the apocalyptic end & turning our backs to the black fire, nah,

it was a needle shower, another country lost, one more revolution torn, no,
unnecessary, a wasteland avoided,
we built solar panels & windmills, planted araguaneys & birds of paradise

(waiting one more winter for its bloom),

we wore distance down and remembered<br/>
the age of everything            could
  Would          serve us

                      ... i learned prayer
like my abuela.       santa ines del monte patron saint of lost things for my sanity
spread thinly across three continents, maria lionza goddess of nature      for clarity in this concrete jungle.</p>

it was a relief to have, un poco de fe.

between two waters, the prerogative is a labour of love, softly pressed to the soy

devoured.