The Breathing Stone

by David Andrés Alíx

The Breathing Stones

There is a list of names

Flashing red

Tucked in The Ancient Book’s


Do I have the heart of a


The bullets cry out

As a remembrancer

Of shared scripture


In this mad life

Those letters are

The only things that

Seem to matter


Permitting tense flint

To sigh as it is wetted

With clean cold water