by Edwin Torres

          it is like a discovered dream
          lodged in the memory from a mountain's mist
          swaying through underbrush, thick as mountain coffee
          culembra-steps over plantain leaves
          giant, gold dewdrops
          big as a 5-year-old cousin
          coqui children
          flying with the dragon-flys in the hot morning sun

          rice-cooked altar made of mango splinters
          a shanty that smiles a toothless road
          where pebbles' carpet vacuums the soles of your feet
          pond-reed twistle in a little boy's ear
          he imagines another world
          in a carpet of indians and drawings of mispronounced toys
          en la mañana, boricua's
          curve is in solace to aroma's benediction
          a salvation of home, in the clouds
          there she is, waving to us
          in all of her lifetime's forever
          a memory of moments passed by, lived now, dreamed then

          butterfly's mother
          father's beauty, flies me
          in this sun

          Si! me luna
          mi sol-viento
          this sol-breeze catches a moment
supre, sopla, sopre, ocho-nevida
          siempre, simple, canta-me, sensei en la noche, montaña
          y no es mi vida, querida
me toca, medina
tan sangre de sante
lah-lah-lalalala-LA, tan-tan-tatatata-TAN



Edwin Torres Author Page

Pub. May 2000