when I was a child
for reasons I still don't completely
understand (is it because I was sick
and alone came so easy, or
is because
there was nothing left to do)

i made a deal
with somebody
or something,
anything out there
i could not name
that might be listening...

(i never believed in God
or anything that could be

there was no
to names
in me at all)

the deal i made
in fourth grade:

i'd trade everything
for the moment
of my fingers,

for whatever form
that moment

all of it,
and promised
to live by this vow
no matter where
my fingers drove me,
what corner
lit or unlit,
to what people
cruel or shy,
criminal or priest,
to what street
in no matter
what part of town,
to what checking account,
to what family,
to what lover,
to what death,

what death
what is death

if not
the moment
of my fingers...

and i've alway lived
up to my
end of the deal.

(it was never feet,
it never could
be with me
for there is
no negotiating
with feet)

now this moment
of my fingers,

i don't
know if
i made the right
choice or not,

if I've won
or lost,

let alone
how many
real moments
of my fingers
there have been,


how many
there is
left to be...

it's just that
street lights are bleeding
across the sky tonight

and I'm no
longer fearless
with death

i can see
my fingers
are only the bones
of my ancestors
the earth,
and only ever were...

end of poem.
end of youth.

6/4/07 - Frigillana, Esp