The San Miguel is a river in hell
That runs through deserted towns
Once flourishing with busy sounds
It starts with the naked bones of a saint
Exposed at the bottom of a pit
Who left behind forgotten now
A clear map to heaven
But once every ninth or eleventh year
He brings a heavy week-long rain
That turns the desiccated canyons
A startling resurrection green
A stolen paradise that lasts a season
When the dead return to the towns
To sing and dance in the ruined cathedrals
And tear all sadness down
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