turn

She was piercingly sweet
I can barely remember
shoulder blades fading tips of wings
and swirls of gown at her delicate ankles
And a voice or a laugh or a song that trembled
with my chords and my lyre

only ever was for her
The memory is a grainy photograph
or a half-plucked melody
dissolving in my throat or at my fingertips
Notes that disappear before they ever
waver in the air
like her lips or her laugh or a song

Her corpse
smelled of sage
I threw myself upon her pyre
and refused to blink
My hair swam in sweat in curls across my brow

and then the cold
and the dark
the incorporeal air
the slow and dragging styx
oozing on and on past

I played morning on the lyre
to light the way

my voice was an urn
and I begged with it
My song pleaded through the blue and mist
the shifting sprites and angry waifs
halted
in their misery
to listen

My song dripped
sweeter
than
stalactites
fluting on the breath of ghosts

cerberus purred
and tears of stone chiseled down her majesty’s cheek

and then the journey home
The miserable and glorious trek
the lyre chafed my shoulder
and the blister began to run

my ankles ached for not knowing
her breath? her voice? her song?
and my chin shifts just to peek
but I don’t

I don’t
but the specters taunt me walking
and my knees are already giving
and they whisper that she has fallen
but hermes firmly at my back—

So I hum a song of morning
that I plucked out in the sunshine
when her eyes prismed promises
and her lips caressed my tune

And I see it
I see it
the fog begins to break
pillars of light burst through the brackish air
The sun! My love, hurry along! Apollo welcomes our return!

and then

I think I only saw her pink lips
shifting back to cold gray crescents
or perhaps a swirl of gown around her kicking feet

So this is my last song
and I admit it is not very good
My voice is a tomb
my mouth
an open
hollow scream

esperanza

the water sways like a splotch of black ink
beneath a bed of warbling stars
the memory of bombs smokes just over shoulder

the tinier island is barely a shadow against
all this black – it skulks beyond the jut of shoreline
the white man that lives there
swims to shore
body shimmering through the hush and break of waves
and sneaks into dry shorts

children whoop and giggle
riding horses back and forth el malecón
they are brown and smiling and far too awake
they ignore tourists and flirt with each other

stingrays fly silently beneath the pier
sweet demons fluttering
with capes both comic and ominous
we lay on our stomachs and watch them
our tan arms glowing hematite
seaweed beneath sways calypso

it is past midnight
and the beach is bright
the sky is big and liquid and beautiful
spilling milky light across the pier’s soft sunwarmed wood
the sweet searchlight moon blaring on the sand

everything is a reverent sigh
rum tinkles over ice cubes at the beach-side bar
christmas lights salsa around the tipping spines of palms
cars bleat at the sleepy horses tropping in the street

what does paradise look like
after the sun has set? is the jeweled air as salty sweet
in the dark? the moon pulls back the blanket
of the sea and tucks the island in to sleep

holy water

Any place
called Mosquito Bay
should sufficiently repel American girls
with small clutch purses and plastic snorkels
It hums with hunger
as the sun dips into the glimmering Caribbean

The dirty white van
bumps and jumps along the unpaved road,
whips of branches slap the glass
The windows are rolled up tight
to protect the blood of American girls
from Mosquito Bay, humming up ahead

If one could see the sky
through the canopy of vines
it would be wicked streaks of purple
and not even the faintest moon
Viequenses say go to Mosquito Bay
when the clouds cloak the stars
so we do
and hold our breath against the insect-heavy night

The percussion
of swatted thighs
fills the third row of the clanking van
and our tans tingle with anticipation

The air is pregnant with vampires
as we fasten damp life jackets
across our breasts
and tiptoe barefoot into the deep mud
The mangroves stink of water and rotting leaves
and the heavy musk of seaweed
steams around our quivering calves

In the middle of the Bay
we are safe from the mosquitoes
though the island rings around us
like a dark open bloody fanged mouth

But suddenly
suddenly
the dipping of oars
swirls diamonds in the dark violet water
the kayaks up ahead are trailed by silver shadows
Galaxies swim beside me
the sky is still opaque
Mosquito Bay is mocking the heavens
The water is diamonds, diamonds, diamonds!
smelling mineral and fecund

Flying fish are celebrating the wet stars
coating their slick black scales

I want a baptism in the glittering Bay
to soothe the fresh new bites

the kayak floats away
and my body has a halo
I drip Orion on my forehead
And float on my glowing wings