Homero Aridjis She
violent and public in the slow journey times sliding
colors toward the dawn
she wiped and recovered
battalions in the same hand
face that bends in the arch
getting grief last full tilt
center where the glory is spread or concentrated
the moment to drift with fetishes
with outlaws
streets with women who call in whispers
to expect that the dark dawn
for your roof is a golden roof
it with black moons
partner and opponents each
on the discovery and
trance
to fund his secret home shines
wings that amount misty eyes that reveal their
night is the dawn
swaying in the stunned the deserter
weaves a blanket of terror around
of those who deny justice
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