<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=571176" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Santa FE</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">The sky is bluest<br>in the clean, thin mountain air<br>of Santa Fe.<br>Seven days in the city<br>of Holy Faith, <br>but my faith is anything but holy.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">It's 3: 30 a.m.<br>The cottonwood's roots are buried deep<br>underneath the adobe house.<br>Its arms scrape the skylight.<br>Raindrops tap against the window.<br>She sighs and says, <br>'I always loved you.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I roll out of bed<br>and, in the dark, reach for my clothes.<br>By 4: 30 a.m. I'm on the road to Albuquerque.<br>My thoughts are on the hot air balloon<br>that, for awhile, <br>will suspend me above earth, <br>above the candle burning on the horizon, <br>above the rattle and hiss of the world.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The clouds are icebergs<br>floating in an azure sea<br>carried past Sandia peak.<br>'How's the weather in Chicago, '<br>the pilot asks.<br>'Heat wave is blasting the city, ' I reply.<br>'My brother says the sky is hazy, dirty.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Do you like the Midwest, ' he continues.<br>I shrug, ' I love the city.'<br>The roar of the flame drowns my voice, <br>and the hot air balloon rises.<br>My thoughts are of the adobe house<br>at the foot of Cristo De Sangre mountains<br>and the soft warm body waiting for me.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'I drove by Chicago back in '94, ' the pilot says, <br>'So, how do you like living in the Midwest? '<br>The balloon brushes a tree top, <br>the Tampa Bay newlyweds squeal.<br>I shrug, 'It's okay.'<br>No one listens.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Coyote sings to the vanishing moon<br>then streaks across open space.<br>The young lovers scream with excitement.<br>'So, how do you like Chicago, '<br>the pilot asks.<br>I mumble, 'I loved a woman there once.'<br>But no one cares, <br>as the hot air balloon descends<br>and the land of enchantment unfolds<br>before an ascending sun.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Esteban+Arellano">Esteban Arellano</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=571176" data-title="Santa FE de Esteban Arellano" data-description="The sky is bluest in the clean, thin mountain air of Santa Fe. Seven days in the city of Holy Faith, but my faith is anything but holy. It's 3: 30 a.m. The cottonwood's roots are buried deep underneath the adobe house. Its arms scrape the skylig..."></div> </div> </div>

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