Pedro Marrero, Jr.

My eyes in 1982

Did not see the blood drying in the inkwells.

In 1982, the moon was nothing

More than a phosphorous dream

Of imaginary light.

Nocturnal shade, a penumbral light

Of blind gravity.

These eyes of mine in 1982

Did not witness the little boy's crucifixion.

They waited patiently

In the backwards spin of their innocence.