Papalotes – Texas poetry

The poetic ethnography is published, and up next is a book for my wild Lone Star State. I don’t say that it will be published any time soon; it’s still very much in the works. But it is close to my heart, and for now, I am calling it Papalotes – Windmills.

Holy Land

The sun-drenched hills
are golden and gray,
robed in cedars dark as night,
fragrant with juniper.

In another world, this land was holy.
This soil caked prophets’ feet.
These rivers baptized.
These skies rained fire.
These trees raised martyrs.

In another world, these winds spoke truths,
and pilgrims passed in silence
between the chalky cliffs


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