That night spelled out so many things, like a petate strewn on the floor.
My brain lay idle awaiting answers.
I couldn’t figure A from Z to be frank, and I was. Frank’s the name. I was born in Aztlan.
And the rays of the dawn broke not only my concentration, it shattered my soul.
What was I doing there?
I listened to the morning’s dew make drops one by one and the spiders and other critters scurried for them, I thirsted for more.
I quenched too.
I sensed the beginning coming, the end far from now.
Unwillingly I stared out to the open space, my self in a cosmos star spangled and all.
I dragged the moment even more like a pillow.
My eyes wondered about.
We met, eye to eye before the bye bye.
The music of yore embraced me, I felt nearly strung out.
Until this morning everything else made sense.
When the chateu clerk came by I was dreaming; skiing on some mystic alp on the Inca empire land.