The Transition

Surely one day
I’ll roam the streets of Guadalajara
the way it befits them.

Now, bound by my feet,
subject to my senses that
influence more than just

the purposeless splash of colour,
the true sentence,
the unremarkable feeling or detail,

I recognize the irony
of being imprisoned within
my scaffold of convenience.

The way is long and unfamiliar,
as far adrift from the world
as my understanding of it,

and as free of inhibitions and restraints,
as I might never be comfortable with.



In a station of the metro
Grandfather advised me
The Way:

This is just to say
Let us describe
The day lady died

In a restless world like this
Some trees

Lost among them somewhere
For fear and in awe
Lie great things unsaid