Tag: Andres Montoya

tonight for a moment as the owl sleeps
i’m going to dust this city’s dirt from my clothes
the dry hot deaths that bring the strongest to their knees.
i’m going to run headlong through a rainstorm
dodging lightening blasts and hurdling rivers
as wolves howl on a peak of purple darkness.
with my nose flaring, the sulfur of the fields will not deter me,
i’m going to come through to a background of laughing cars
and screaming
sirens.
my forehead pushing forward to the street
of your house, i’m going to come with the smile of a boy,
my smile,
my hands offering callouses, offering struggle.
tonight as the owl sleeps, i’ll come with the silence of a cricket,
with the intensity of a flower and for an instant, a second,
before i tell you it’s starting and bring the guns,
feathers will flow from my mouth to tell you, mi amor, my soul,
a kiss before we pray. i gather the stars like berries
and bring them to light your face, let me again smell
the skin of your stomach,
let me wash your feet with my lips,
nibble the meat from behind your knees.

the night swoons
to the hip-hop
of gunshots
and stars.
a young woman’s teeth
challenge
everything
about sorrow’s suitcase
of explanations
and i am learning to hope
like a bird
learns
its first
affair
with wind
and sun
like an orange
learns
to take flight
into the mouth
of a boy
in summer.
the trees are prophesying.
the mountains are waiting
for the long trek to the sea
and the sea
waits
like a lover
anticipating the kiss
of three thousand
lost kisses.
the night swoons
and the trees
begin their blue-black
dance
in the wind.