Mexican Radio

Driving the highway

back from the store

sun-dripped,

feeling gold

watching the sky burn over

Mexico in dusk

the music on the radio is

a lovely static mixed with words I can't understand

the voices of the past burning

in the rearview, the sunset.

strange birds and small rodents

dart across the road while

I take a swig of water

and remember the eyes

of old love

the horizon behind me

wraps around front

in a claw of color

of warm orange sky

blowing back into a

filament of purple

with a pink bulb smeared

across the top of the

Mexican mountains

can the Tahitian sky of

milk be as beautiful,

can the last trace of light

crashing into Athens

mean more than this,

this bizarre feeling

of hope.