My new borders
Are these
Loud orders taken
By the men
Of my father's...
No, of our
Sour and neglected nation

I wake, my own neighbor-
The loud, large family or
The silent, solo man.

My old home
Is this:
A colorlous cul-de-sac
So quiet
That riot is near,
And sounds
Like mariachi.

I sleep, a citizen old,
Who bold writes dreams
And scenes
And schemes of two
Nations,
Tongues,
And homes.

- Luis Jose Rivas