la mente que tienes

In parting hence I draw upon you this very marrow

That which you arched, bent, and threw much like an arrow 



But alas never could you break these bones so brittle and prone, 

For the soul which it carries whence amphibously regrown 



Amid the wail of the sand and sigh of the land

 The worries of today disappear as we stand 



Stand erect and poised in deception and sorrow 

On a the navel of the moon, a name we have borrowed



Come now good sons from Arcadia to Aztlan, 

When we return--this troubled sea shall we stand upon.


-Harley Prechtel-Cortez