In Winter

In winter when the cold, icy air in my face

felt like the morning of youth.

My homeland, Mexico.

The white-topped mountains,

the sleeping women.

The cold lake of the eye of the dream.

The corner store where I'd buy pop.

There was lightning, rain,

and when the rain stopped:

a pond on the basketball court.

If I could go, I would,

to the wooded hills

of my homeland, Mexico.

Francisco Campos