Classic Poem

Silence rules in the home
But on the road,
the convoy snorts its flames.

Do not awake, love.
Calm be your heart.
And in your eyes in darkness
let sleep grope for hues of blue.
Do not awake.

On the road, the thunder
of the convoy And in my fist
my anger.
Do not move
Leave your hand over my heart.

Soon the tyrant convoy
loaded with shrapnel and traitors
will ride into the dark.
The dark has many names:
jungles, Viet Minh, Andes,
Guevaras, Douglasbravos, Gabaldones,
long Orinocos of our bloodline,
raintrees like temples,
thrushes that will sing in chorus
new morning hymns,
condors and cunaguaros,
anacondas and quetzals,
poets like craters
in an explosion of shackles,
muses like Consuelo,
like Aleida, amazons
with boots and cartridge belts,
and the Livia Gouverneurs whom the tyrants
must defeat with death.
The hands of tragedy and triumph
construct the victory together.

—The convoy will crash into that dark—

Do not awake.
This is a pause
for love. It is only
a brief pause.