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if, given :: oliver de la paz

by on September 9, 2015

If given a horse, a palomino, I’d ride
the high dunes to meet you at sunrise.

If there were no horse, only shoes and sand, I’d start
with the left foot and with the right,

I’d drag a path for you to follow.
The yellow storms would not pursue because

the law between us is holy. If there was water
and no desert, I’d sail for each celestial cluster

perched in the spiritus nebulae—
the planetary bodies, blemishes

of your skin. And if there were no compass,
I’d steer by shadow. I’d light a kerosene soaked arrow

and fire into the sky. I’d watch the parabola of flame
defy the worldly dark in the tongue of what must be

the end of paradise. And if there were no paradise,
then I’d be the horse. I’d bolt

as though the stables were on fire and you,
you would hold the bridle . . . you would ride.


From → poems

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