Carmen Tafolla

I was the fourth ship. Behind Ni ñ a, Pinta, Santa Mar í a, Lost at sea while watching a seagull, Following the wind and sunset skies, While the others set their charts. I was the fourth ship. Breathing in salt and flying with clouds, Sailing moonbreezes and starvision nights, Rolling into the wave and savoring its lull, While the others pointed their prows. I was the fourth ship. Playfully in love with the sea, Eternally entwined with the sky, Forever vowed to my voyage, While the others shouted "Land."

The pathways of my thoughts are cobbled with mesquite blocks and narrow-winding, long and aged like the streets of san fernando de bexar y la villa real de san antonio pensive y callados cada uno con su chiste idiosyncracy crazy turns that are because they are, centuries magic cada uno hecho as í , y with a careful capricho touch, as í . They curl slowly into ripples, earthy and cool like the R í o Medina under the trees silently singing, standing still, and flowing, becoming, became and always as always still fertile, laughing, loving, alivianada R í o Medina under the trees, celebrating life. They end up in the monte, chaparral, llenos de burrs, spurs pero libres Running through the hills freefoot con aire azul blue breaths peacefully taken between each lope remembering venado remembering conejos remembering where we came from

He wanders through the crooked streets that mimic river beds Before and breathes the anxious air in traffic filled with tension left from wooded crossroads in attack He shops the windows, happy, where the stalking once was good and his kitchen floor is built on bones of venison once gently roasted. "It's a good place for a party!" he concurs to friends now dressed in jeans. The ground was already beaten smooth and festive by the joy of ancient dances. He feels the warmth, and doesn't know his soul is filled with the spirit of coyotes past.