by Edwin Torres

The child has her eyes
It has the father's owls
Feathered hunt Joe Deather
Seapocks awailin' in the willory
But her stare - just a Hi...from
the deader's hold

Childero gallanceer
Sweet raven chapter of my youth
My hair was a peacock in heaven
for you, a wild palamino with
parents of plume
Sweet natured and distant - this one

is tarrow slim
vulgar - this one bequeathes
a solvent mare - my hair holds
your gaze, my skin - your stare...this one's gone
This one has
your child your face - twinner
Dark, thyner - mare finder in the hailbry
Follow in the whisss, I wildew
where the wasn't hollow
Where I hel and held and stared at glass
Poe'wd'ered pink stale paler still
neckless...my t'will resin shifting
quills against against - my hand - held froze
Against my hold

I play inside this picture
falling face flance an'scrope
I cry against bitterbit flawless
features, the color of my room
I find my locks in my shouldering death
my father in my size - the child
has the hoofs of a falcon

Were I heaven surprised
I'd have gutted a raven, left a trail
for your eyes - wise rocks
they are cinder...and I
Am I what you leave
as you fall from the sky

Edwin Torres Author Page

Pub. May 2000