Home of Serpents and Children

California.

 

Owner, old and watchful

Of the spikes risen from your cracked powders

And the waves sounded in falsehood

From the beat of the ground.

 

Known by

The skin of serpents

Ancient as your tale.

 

Aged as your love.

 

Guard of the footsteps

Left in dead

Dead or dead of night.

Protector.

 

The small feet

Of small fear

And futures of magnitude.

A risk

Necessary.

Not wise.

 

Watch them

Keep them in

Your loving arms,

The depth of your sun’s

Heartbeat, beat, beat, beat.

 

Keep us

As those who knew you not

But sought your beauty

At whatever the cost.

 

I’ll never forget you

My first love and home.

This poem is about: 
Me
My community

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