from p.1 on Mon., 12/11

The melting pot:
flavors of meat
blend into the
rich sauce,
savory.


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Like a wave that
never makes it to the
shore,

Washed over joy floods
the grainy and.

The salt rinses my
eyes with hope.

Almost There.


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Veins of electricity
trickle across the ground.
From 20,000 feet above ,
problems minimize
the memory of your eyes.

Your hands
begin to mystify
like the clouds
from 20,000 feet above.


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We all hold each
other's hands.

We close our eyes,

We wait, and wait, and
wait.

We don't hear "Arapahoe
High School."

Disappointed, we let go of each
other's hands.


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