...writing for the first time in a long time

6:30 in Satelite

The overcast sky uneven
uneven as the terrain below
hills poke out from behind casas
in ways unexpected
passing by the watchymen with
a "buenas" as they man their gate
with machetes and radio
spittle of rain flecks the atmosphere
and I barely notice.
A left turn at the pulpería
as a noisy truck roars down the distant Anillo--
as if it's giving permission at
break of day the other loud vehicles
rouse in unison in all
directions around the
neighborhood as I maneuver
round cars parked on the narrow
sidewalk already encroached by
hedges and palmeras that brush
my shoulder and the far-off rooster
and nearby geese complete the score
for the otherwise silent morning of
Tegucigalpa, already daylit but
the sun several hours off yet coming
stucco walls sectioned off by paint
color and occasional "Claro" logos
line every street on both sides,
enclosing me on three but los
nubes are still above and even not
for long-- the fourth side always full
of promise, full of Dios, llena
de la paz de esta mañana as I
near my designated colored section
the morning, the city, mi ser
quizás empiece a cambiar.