The curious house of my lament
From: The Desert Gardens
I wonder if you would miss me if I toppled from the tower where I have stood so long, if I donated my body to the rocks. For months, they have promised to cure all the sick birds in my throat if only I would have the decency and velocity to receive them. But I wonder if you would wonder where I had gone, or if you would go on your way to the baker or candle maker without a shout of surprise or a gasp of grief. Yet know: there in the presence of stone and sand with waves slowly rinsing the red rocks clean, before the last sack of my beliefs and judgments shredded in the pulpy morning tide, I swear: I would think of you my friend and how we stretched our jaws wide to hold the world like a glorious apple between our teeth.
Victor David Sandiego lives in the high desert of central México where he plays drums with jazz combos and in musical / poetry collaborations, writes, and studies. His work appears in various journals and on public radio. He enjoys or identifies with: the first moon landing, most anti-war movements, and the mysticism of Carlos Castaneda and Gabriel Garcia Marquez. His website is
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