Chase the hills in Mexico,
followed the tones of your skin into shadows,
by the morning the sun was there
all eyes were open
and the beaches bartered eternity,
I reached for a tortilla.
The moss and mold hid, then fell apart
the eyes of the onward looking directors of Universe.
Afternoon cascaded down your legs
and my head feels so good,
I smell the old plants,
let me eat the oranges in a still room,
god damn, I am an old man.
Poetry by W.T. tuqMairtin