Hool Kosom

The swallow migrates here

every year, it swirls

back to this cenote

into a roof of caves

to find home again.

The swallow flies right

through memory,

winging inside out

this hideaway,

a landmark

he’s known as a haven.

The swallow nests

a rooted sanctuary

from a small fragment

of its earlier life,

reflecting on the waters

of melancholia.

The swallow is reborn,

descending, longing the flight,

a sense of continuity

through remembrance

and heritage.

The swallow gathers

to leave to a new time;

its old feathers

will linger in these ruins,

frameworks of reminiscence.

The swallow flies away

in the temporal distance,

and a mist of nostalgia

is felt in these waters,

a collective return home

as I look up to the sky,

to the swallow,

departing, taking flight,

I see the alamo,

I know, I’ve found home.