Benediction

He is the one

Doing the provisioning

For lost souls

Waiting to be beckoned

 

He is the shining

Knight of the forecast

Caressing my lovers

And setting them down secretly

 

He is the metal chink

Of a bucket of fresh water

Parching the throats

That do not drink from it

 

He is the one

Doing the corralling

Of sheepsmen like sheep

Of goatmen like goats

 

Drunk on the story

He marches a crusade

For all the insignificance

And history of a bubble

 

He is the hero

And she cries after him

Ay, Llorona

Do not weep for that man

He, who lays claim

To living forever