The moon fades over Arizona and the morning sun is more dangerous.
Even the rain when it finally falls is no friend to man
or woman either.
Toads cry like lost children when the torrent ceases
and flash floods drain from arroyos in swirls of mist
drifting past homeless camps and shattered dreams.
There was a time when this was bearable
when the moon was closer in Arizona
when the Church gave sanctuary to exiles and immigrants
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem