A Thousand Years

You're an ancestor from a Spanish shore, your blood thick with it, a wanderer, in the Jersey woods, you're piece of granite, your bad boy side glinting in the sun, a small slice of hell, revealed when you blink your thick eyelashes at anything that passes, just to call it "healing," panting like a mad dog through rosy winter cheeks, that wild, thirsty, thousand year old pain, circling back to the very spot where love and hate push the sea saw hard as a rogue nail, chanting, chanting, pain, love..... bursting into the wind.