To my friends returning from South America

Golden hair flies easy
on the ocean breeze
when the whispy winds
on the Equatorial expanse
breech toward Autumn.

The weight of colonialism,
my gilded legacy, welded
to my skin. Somnambulate
dreams, hot to the touch,
swell and collapse.

Fighting against destiny
with broken mirrors, soft
hands reach into the ruins
and carefully collect
edges to piece back together.

But the beast lies awake.
I feel my skin catch on fire
and the vision collapses
with the stark horror
of equillibrium faltering.

Brother, save your arms,
and live for another day.

We extend to our limits
and find compassion
pushed back against rage.

Sister, save us all
with your courage
that we lack.

How we live in this world
that has slipped to us.