On an airplane. [Viajeros y Suicidas III....maybe]

Did an eskimo family build their home out of my mistakes?
Out of those tears that mixed with sweat on summer nights
When we would fight about the heat, about the fights?
Or did my failures trap the children in the school
And force them to become more than they should
When all they wanted was to feel inside their palms

The cold levity I lost
And let it go?

And in what famous lake did all my friends' funerals drown?
Or are they bathing in that pond behind your house
Giving life to all the fishes you would count?
Did they carry us that day inside the raft? In that
Thundering white water symphony
That could have once been dead silence
In a levitating dream
Turned into disease.

And is the difference between layered and convective clouds
Just the difference between our sadness and our joy?
Does nostalgia form cirrostratus and dejection stratocumulus?
And in what type of cloud are all the miles down the road,
Away from home and away from love,
Away into the shattering stones of maturity's song
Whose rhythm we could follow
But never found?

And why does the sun dissolve our pain
Just to let it fall on us again?

Into the ocean of my parents' suffering and release
I swim,
I live.