I AM THE WORDS I WRITE
I come from the corner where dreams rebound,
gate to the grandest dream.
Martyrs, murderers, saints,
they march in a file,
they march to the gate.
Flanked by peace and steel and blood,
by tide, by mountain,
they march in pursuit of the dream.
They jam against the fence face-first
and their lament echoes, bounces
through the valley of matorral,
orphans of dignity
bellowing for their mother's womb.
The border embraces her children,
the corner, the gate, the fence,
martyrs, murderers, saints.
They march in a single file,
to be chosen by fate.