Monday, March 1, 2010

Sergio A. Ortiz

Save Me

Constant thirst,
my isle knows its image
of the sky,

the hands on its drum,
its millenary slave.

Mend these lines
of broken stitches.
Labor, slide

under this portico
without disturbing
my stillness.


has no sound,
yet is not difficult
to read.
There is strength
in water,
my hair rusts
in its pursuit.
The rest is
let’s keep it a

The Miles

A life to serve under the brightness
of elongated moons,

a deeply secret road where my fingers braid
an endless thread of plenty around your spur,
the bank of our first dawn together—
tearing at my pollen walls.

Pleasant: the labyrinth of temperate water,
fear, a premonition of the spiraling
absence in the sweetness of your voice,
the miles of all that could have been.


It takes depth
to write memoirs,
afternoons full of
before my voice floods
the cemetery
with music.

-all poems published at Madswirl

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