ah, this is what it is, is it?
the path through the scrub dotted
with boot imprints and dog turds,
the people passing on the trail
always smile and look exalted
to be out from under the concrete
and asphalt they live upon day
to day we climb through the rocks
and forget about the city below
forget the places and countries
we come from and become part of this
one: the kids and abuelos, the old
salts and fat chicks; all come, all
are welcomed to the blue sky and desert
crunch, the needled, wasting cactus,
flitting squirrels, barrel and creosote,
all home, all one with themselves
complete just as they are.
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