his eyes amber green orange and yellow
his mouth soft and brown
so shiny as he spoke to me from behind a grill
El Salvadorian golden teeth, german nose
hooked with a mole on the right, a mirror to mine
speaking hot and dry along the colorado creek
telling me of magic, he’s painting us a story
of a gardener, our age, was cursed with visions, feelings and sensations
of burning, like flames, on his handsome skin
for 30 days, he willed the gods to save him
sat under a waterfall, pounding in his mind, begging of the water
to offer daggers of protection, kill and shield the noise
bring peace silence stillness—a life in the mundane
freedom from the chains of knowing
it’s been 16 years of quiet from the fire in his mind
but never, ever, in his sleep
each night he opens a door
to the purple blue light sky
elders circle boom of energy, no form
three hundred of them welcome friends at the fire
eyes open in our morning world, unconcious, hard, and dense
in spaces of our own
we try to touch
i ask him if he asks them things
my ego want to know
doesn’t he a responsibility to tell me
did he go back to sleep?
[ g r e e n ] 