I didn’t intend to break in to the bird sanctuary to set fire to the border patrol truck but I didn’t not intend to break in to the bird sanctuary to set fire to the border patrol truck

Is a thing you might say and your attorneys might advise you not

When the judge, in an uncharacteristic moment of candor, looks at you and says “What the hell were you thinking?” which will make him Twitter Famous and will also remind you of the time

You reached over the fence into the neighbor’s wisteria, your soft child hand swallowed to the wrist, trying to feel for what you could not see only to know pain, so sudden and present that you snatched your hand back in shock and resignation, a fist full of hornets, fell to your knees and over your shoulder is

Your father, chuckling and shaking his head, looking at you as if you were a dog with a belly full of rancid trash, and though he sees the look on your face, unmistakable, that says “I didn’t expect to get hurt” he doesn’t stop himself from saying “Bet your fool ass won’t do that again”

Except he was wrong, you never stopped reaching for beautiful things or occasionally putting your hand where it did not belong

Like the penny candy jar on the counter at Dom’s Market, no pennies in your pocket, Dom turning his head at the register just long enough as if to say “Take”

Luis Delgado’s thigh underneath your hand, underneath the desk, in Algebra II, his eyes wide, cheeks flushed, heartbeat pulsing

Like a hand dancing over the Judicial Bible, back in the courtroom, where you swear to tell the truth so help you God, you don’t know who set fire to the patrol truck, yes you were there, yes you left food and water, yes unpermitted, yes for people in the desert who might need it, as is, your attorneys will successfully argue, a sincere exercise of your most profound religious belief

But the truth is, what the hell you are thinking, is that you wish you had, so help you God, you wish you had lit the match, dropped it through the cracked window, into the empty cab, the orange flames glowing into the night, separating the dark from the light, you fallen to your knees again, sleepy chachalacas in the mesquite trees behind you whispering “It is good, it is good, it is good.”

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