DEAD MAN WALKING AT NIGHT
Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal
At my feet lay a map of the sea,
just a small bit of it.
I kicked it away
into the rain, which fell
from a bizarre part of the heavens.
My skull wept from the hollow
part of my head, where there
were no eyes. I was a dead man
walking without hope
and no place to sleep.
It was night.
There was no daylight in this place.
I searched for the map of the sea.
I bent to find my eyes
filled with tears, blood, or rain.
They felt like small smooth stones.
When I popped my eyes back in
I was right. It was night.
