from me is the winged head
of thought waiting to carry me off
to the long empty beaches of Andorra
or the forests of the Sierra de la Demanda
to find the old man fishing on the lake
still wearing his bedroom slippers and robe
or the miles of sunflowers preening
under the Santo Domingo mountains
how many more miles must I
carry this question my father
asked me to bring to you
holy ghost of the long road back
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