Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal

Rely on the Moon

by Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal

I rely on the moon

to calm my teary eyes.

From where I stand, I see

the white moon turning blue.

The moon is my present,

my gift from the heavens.

In my deepest despair

I could not live without

its presence. The moon works

on my eyes. It does not

hurt them like the sun does.

I prefer evening. Day

and its sun wears on me.

The moon leaves me drowsy.

I can always count on

it as well as the stars.

Trembling Shadows

by Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal

The trembling shadows

search for the root cause

of such trembling; left naked

with cold hard facts, they

go on trembling at all hours.

The lives of shadows are like

cigarette ash, stinking if

left unemptied. The trembling

shadows, transparent as

silence, feel twilight’s claws,

on a moonless and starless

night. The shadows retreat,

trembling, as the dark sky falls.

Crawling at Night

by Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal

Crawling at night,

crawling out of my hole.

The stars summoned me

to feel the fresh air.

I climbed to the sky,

left my footprints on the

ground along with my howl.

I searched with my mind

and floated so high.

I searched for joy

in my ragged clothes

and in newfound hope.

I needed this life

to go through all these

pathways, even if I

had to walk with my hands,

crawling, bloody, with

pain, with all my strength.

Night was comforting.

The stars above showered

with me with a rain of light.

This old man felt so young.

In Your Garden

by Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal

To be a flower

in your garden,

to be your shady

tree, either of

those two things

I would like to be

for you. You could

wet my petals with

water or with the rain

that comes less

frequently. Let the

wind shake me and

in autumn gather my

fallen leaves.

The Past Is Over

by Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal

The past is

over and

then you die.

You think back

on the dream

that was life.

No longer

here. The world

goes on and

on. Life is

like this. I

wonder if

all those who

die are not

really dead.

Will they talk

to us as

spirits? Will

they float out

to sea as

morning fog?

Born in Mexico, Luis lives in California and works in Los Angeles. His latest poetry book, Make the Water Laugh, was published by Rogue Wolf Press. His poems online and in print have appeared in Blue Collar Review, Mad Swirl, and Yellow Mama Webzine.