almitas viejas

"Ya nos dejas cantando

en la plazuela,

¡arroyo claro,

fuente serena!"

-Federico García Lorca, Balada de la placeta

Uy, cómo envejecemos.

Simple

The wind in the trees,

The breath of God upon me.

Where are you now, Lord?

or

Wind in trees,

His breath upon me.

Where art thou?

a verde

Words can't describe,

but I might as well try.

News anchors jerking my emotions;

a killer, a hero, a death, a saint.

Predicting sunny skies with a

Pathetic hope in their eyes-

Trying to shake off the weight of their own days.

Rojo a verde rojo a verde

a rojo a verde.

Sliding silent por la calle-

Traffic lights cooperating, like,

"Ayúdame... please"

Ohhhh, just clouds (more clouds) rolling in.

And when will we breathe again-

at least,

Breathe air not soaked in last night's rain

-Goddam drowning in clouds.

Ohhhh, just night pulling back- or creeping up?

"I don't know what I am."

To is or not be is?

Clouds on clouds on clouds on

me jodes- car makes another sound

-slick roads and wild eyes in the trees

-God help me

-Please?

-Oh, please.