Adversus solem ne loquitor

It’s not the prettiest face
but at this age
who could complain?

The cracks are seeping
from her pores

I can taste them
Salt-like wounds;
inheritance of bane

I am gifted
vexed like a child
with a mind
composed and compiled

Soft like chants that hiss in threes:

Adversus solem ne loquitor
Adversus solem ne loquitor
Adversus solem ne loquitor

Tongue bites tongue
The Unich provides offspring

When the morning crow sings
we are no longer available
occupied by its’ wings.

Oh yes
they’ll sing songs
and bring
otherworldly possessions
solemn in spring.

Fiction Collection
©Bobby Ruelas 2009