Migrant's Ballad | Poetry

Loud trudging cars still tumbling down the road
that leads nowhere we'd ever cried.

Lifted, our eyes are weaning off the moon
as she releases that cruel spell that did once bind us
If you should ever -when you do- find that red vein
that would return us to our past dreams
-hospital aisles and wind-full nights,
raw letters written upon a raw wall
to teach my father, then a kid, the alphabet
with which he'd later teach me love and ruin, soft and flame,
and crumbling words to speak only of remainders-
if you should ever grant us blood, us carcass crawlers,
then please, do spare, do spare a rhyme
and a gentle thought for us, for me,
a burning name.

Once more, later, once more
we'll cross into the Night.
One day, one day, starry eyes.

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