Tus Huellas

A New York pace buzzes in the periphery, asking you to dance. You remember suddenly a beat that has become just as familiar to you as the meandering river in which you were born. My to do list runs rampant, I race from one end of the island to another, carry a hundred conversations in my pocket and a flurry of check marks in the back of my head. The city sweats, pulses in the July heat but does not sit back, does not relent, so neither do you. (I dreamed about you last night, but it was peaceful, it was all right and I woke soft at the joints.) When I was younger, I believed one day I would slow down, would grow comfortable, would return to the quiet stream, but here's a secret: the trick is to find your comfort in the madness.

Because if you figure out how, the rest of your life is fireworks.