Tracks Poem by Rosalinda Flores Martinez

There are tracks I left in the lake, in the puddle, near the market
in the aisle, near the pantry, at night of warm hands in every bead of Hail Mary.

There are tracks I left in the kitchen, in the window, facing the cemetery that peaceful haze of my cooking, your lunch and dinner.

There are tracks I left in your clothes, in your house, that fire in your heart
not wanting, but light, the glory that smells of Heaven.

Tracks everywhere, of the clear skies, formless and defined by only you
tears, the sound of rain, my promises you hold dearest.