Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal




Voiceless

Voiceless in the night,
sleep has brought
the patient peace.

Yesterday, haunted
by his dead
uncle's voice, he

dug out the rosebush
with his bare 
hands, bleeding into

the dirt.  He believed
the voice
that told him his blood

would make the earth a
better place,
a much better place.