Aztec

You came from the Aztecs
 With a copper on your fore-arms
 Tawnier than a sunset
 Saying good-by to an even river.

 And I said, you remember,
 Those fore-arms of yours
 Were finer than bronzes
 And you were glad.

                 It was tears
 And a path west
           and a home-going
           when I asked
 Why there were scars of worn gold
 Where a man’s ring was fixed once
 On your third finger.
                 And I call you
 To come back
           before the days are longer.

Published in Chicago Poems

Tags:

Any corrections or public domain poems I should have here? Email me at poems (at) this domain.