Listen  ©

you did not hear me 

calling your name in

the evenings that held

you close miles away 

in a Spanish speaking

world where the dew 

each morning I recall

spoke your name. the

distance was sadness,

the civil war terrifying

and quietly I tossed prayers 

to heaven. listen, I love 

you like the winds that 

blow in Central American

valleys and on city streets.  

for years, you have held 

me fair, my dreams are 

made of songs about you 

and the children we call 

ours to whom I am known

by heart are a blessing like

the daughter who suddenly

departed.   

h. j. Recinos