Sinaloa My Hands Hold Fire
if i love one breath too much, and hold it too close, i
will die in its depth. if i hate new air in my lungs, and
push it out enough, that, too, will bring death. if i go
too far, the road will become my home. if i stay too
long, the weeds will arrest my bones. so, i breathe in
and out. when i stray, my heart holds my home. i resign
myself to my doubts. i accept debts, while happy to loan.
if my hand holds fire, i better put it to use. if my
enemy has water, there is no time for a truce. my body
would burn before it trickled down, and there are things
to burn with the fire i found: the actors body, and the
schools he founded; the tower prisons, and the ropes
we're bound in. then, retire to the mountains alone, to
look down on the fields. too old to help move the stones,
but hoping things will heal.
