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Sinaloa
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My Hands Hold Fire
If i love one breath too much, and hold it too close, i will die in its depth.
if i hate new air in my lungs, and push it out enough, that, too, will bring death.
if i go too far, the road will become my home.
if i stay too long, the weeds will arrest my bones.
so, i breathe in and out.
when i stray, my heart holds my home.
i resign myself to my doubts.
i accept debts, while happy to loan.
if my hand holds fire, i better put it to use.
if my enemy has water, there is no time for a truce.
my body would burn before it trickled down, and there are things to burn with the fire i found: the actors body, and the schools he founded; the tower prisons, and the ropes we're bound in.
then, retire to the mountains alone, to look down on the fields.
too old to help move the stones, but hoping things will heal.
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