Poetry Archives

You came from the Aztecs
With a copper on your fore-arms
Tawnier than a sunset
Saying good-by to an even river.

And I said, you remember,
Those fore-arms of yours
Were finer than bronzes
And you were glad.

                    It was tears
And a path west
          and a home-going
          when I asked
Why there were scars of worn gold
Where a man’s ring was fixed once
On your third finger.
                    And I call you
To come back
          before the days are longer.