April 4, 2020
7:28am
It is a replicating morning leading to the resting day of winter. I have not found myself away from the thought that watching el almanacer is the most exciting time. And as the day begins I am filled with laughter about hidden amazement of birth.
A time-lapse to the tree receiving its first floral gift. The nest of a raven coming to be. How do I explain el momento in which the white veins become filled with saffron? How do I explain how the tree outside this window now has cúrcuma hanging life?
The morning when the first impermanent light show screens and the sounds of the birds move into waves meant to tocar las cosas in order to be complete. The birds have been in my thoughts, moviendo, lingering in the places in which navigate the eyes of Spring.
El café pequeno pajaro se ha recordado de mi nombre solamente despues de una introducción.
Casi todos los días me pregunto ¿estamos en el exilio?
Y me pregunto si Dios
is outside the window.
BLACK LIVES MATTER
In the forms of isolation
there in the peeling exile
of these few months
I sit watching
the systematic violence
repeatedly here
police brutality
against black bodies
police murders
police
violent agents of
racism
hidden layers between these stars and stripes
this American flag threaded with blood
if there is No Justice there is No Peace
and so how can we not fight violence with violence?
in the forms of isolation
there in the peeling exile
of these few months
I sit knowing
this is
this is the uprising.
Tu Lucha Es Mi Lucha
Condiciones de aislamiento
alli las cascaras de exilio
en estos últimos meses
me siento viendo
violencia sistematico
la repetición de brutalidad policial
contra cuerpos negros
contra cuerpos humanos
policia asesinos
policia violencia de
racismo
allí entre estas estrellas y rayas
la bandera americana
tejida con sangre
Si No Hay Justicia No Hay Paz
condiciones de aislamiento
alli las cascaras de exilio
en estos últimos meses
me siento sabiendo
esto, esto es el alzamiento.