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To Esteban R. Arellano, Jr.'s previous piece
Sister, Twilight Is A Thousand Candles God Burns For You Sister, in the folds of Day lurks Dark -- what could I have done but what I did. You swung so high, your laughter skipped across the sphere, your Mongolian eyes shut out the light (slits of black stone). Even then, in the school yard, I smelled your decaying flesh. Embalmed in sorrow your soul flickered. (Where was the savior? Is that what older brothers are supposed to be?) As you rose -- the final arc -- Day unveiled and showed the balance of Godís hand. Night scurried and hid in the belly of the wicked world. What was his name -- Cabron! Pinche! Chingon! What was his name, oh Great God! What matters is you imbued me with your power. I became a Danite, son of Manoah, and faced him with an assesí bone. I would not let him grind. Jezebelís blood dropped as dew on a blade of grass. Dark roared -- I would not let him cleave. Sister, not this time, I would not let him -- On the day of rest, I took you home and prayed for you, your resurrection; but you were lost, entombed in clay, and I was left with my laments. Now, a man, full of iniquities, I wait your knock. Sister, please donít weep. Day is done, and twilight is a thousand candles God burns for you.
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