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By chris Date: 2008 Nov 04 Comment on this Work [[2008.11.04.11.56.20606]] |
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She carries me off to sleep, her voice soft like brushed cotton – like an Old Town blanket of too many colors to possibly take in at once. She carries me off to sleep, speaking of moments from the past – her past – as I slowly, inexorably, get lost in mine. She tells of the time in the house over the landfill in Juarez and rats that run from light. She carries me off to sleep with eyes half-open but awake and knowing like La Virgen in some manifestations looks out with love on a world of sin. |