John Andrews


Lorenzo's great poem knew
he was soon to be dead
like that mountain lion he
saw slung over the shoulder
of a new Mexican,
who quietly killed it,
the face like yellow frost looking
into the sangre de christo mountains.
That's right
Lorenzo, you knew it baby,
all that light
beauty had to end somewhere.
Your poem knew it before you did.

Poem Submitted: Monday, June 11, 2012

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