At the motel, near where the dead
haven't moved in centuries,
there is a pool. A boy carries
a tall lily, as if it is a sacred lamp
the wind could blow out.
His mother sleeps by the pool's edge.
Mama, he calls out,
and louder, Mama.
This time she wakes.
The son gives his mother the lily,
then runs away, as if
afraid he will be caught
loving someone that much,
The lava is about to flow again
and the only way to stay alive
is to run fast his whole life long,
never stopping, never looking back
at the one face his life has given him
no choice but to love.