Landscape For the Little Ones
Those mental landscapes, rocky deserts
with long winding salt paths of tears, suffering
give an absurd direction, and always end
into the many roaring tides of red and tan dunes
I am a confessional poet who understands well
the forty days of glory and the forty days of hell
Many wild horses run free inside me
Their maniac depressive mood is always masculine and cruel
I let them trample over me, they crush my jittery self
It is a natural consequence of who God wants me to be.
The hurting always leads me to a place that is beautiful.
It allows me to find Jesus meditating about the new earth
And in these devastating places, poets become
the voice of every little one suffering
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