![]() “I want to see the realities of the border day in and day out,” he tells his mother. ![]() It’s that same elusiveness that brings Cantú to the border in the first place-raised in West Texas by his Mexican American mother, the border is in Cantú’s blood. Are they stalking him, the way he and the rest of the Border Patrol trail Mexican migrants through the Sonoran desert? Are they a subconscious reenactment of his waking life as an agent, or are they threatening revenge for it? In the dream, Cantú writes: “The wolf leans into me and brings its face close to mine, as if telling me a secret.” He wakes before it can be shared. They are strange, menacing figures whose appearances portend a message he can’t quite figure out. ![]() ![]() In the desert, by the border, Francisco Cantú dreams of wolves. ![]()
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