Into Your Forgotten Mexico Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Words are imperfect, but they hold true:
Cherry trees blossoming in the hue; and your eyes warming up
Across the lakes overfilling with the things they
Cannot hold,
The pretty voices who have told of everything stolen
From these shelves over all of these years:
The golden forest thick with bears,
And the humming caterpillars who bed up to your throats Alma
And change right there,
To disappear across the carnivals of the world you put into me,
While your daughter grows up,
And your son enlivens the day; as I want to hold hands with you back
Into your forgotten Mexico, to kiss, and kneel and pray.