Alchemy of words
By Armando Ortiz
The tears of our mother cut through the ground making natural mesa roads.
A tear gently rolls down your flushed cheeks falling to the thirsty ground.
Barren land becomes a field of flowering shoots of morning greens.
Your warmth gives me inspiration, and your hot skin determination.
She is our Holy Mountain of sacred valleys prospering under cloudy skies.
But your body becomes home, and I get lost inside the carnal labyrinth.
You carry a breath that is a blanket for my sleep.
With a belly that keeps a wild garden of roses and delicate blood orange poppies.
The alchemy of your words is the spider web of your presence that has me in a spell.
She calls out our name and gives us her daily bread, and now she cries.
But you know my name, bearing the fruit of promise, giving me reason to stay awake.
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