If I were a bird
I’d rise above volcanic ashes
and soar far beyond this burning earth . . .
but I’m human,
so I use my shaky legs
to stumble through dark streets
searching for survivors
other poets
my friends.
Go to Chile,
they urge me
when we finally
locate each other.
Go, they repeat, flee, niño poeta,
try to reach the end of the earth,
even if you
have to swim,
even if you drown.