Between oceans

the diaspora of friends

thrown far apart

or landing haphazardly there

far off

There are two worlds

The native one and
the one of the colonizers

or

the one where you are good and stay awake
and stare at the back of the man's head in front of you,
because you cannot see the screen of the movie about
the natives and the colonizers and
the one when you are bad and let yourself fall asleep
listening to the words of another language
hoping to still glean all the important messages

or

the one where you read all the books
and understand how things are connected
and see big meaning in not just people in the sidewalks
but in your own small grievances and
the one where you sketch an imaginary apartment
layout again and solve more problems that don't exist yet

Hive

a time of traveling in packs
tight knit sweaters
ready to tense up a shoulder
against any naysayer
and draw in closer
the breath of inner circles
was not all without ripples
but a ship was set with certainty
tides of doubt not yet lapping
 at our helm

Winter stars

frozen garbage outside the school

thrown about by 

the wind presses a scrap paper

with the negative space of a heart

against the fence

I had thought the tumors

some perpetual state of wondering

of the bad things an ache might be

a tilted tooth

and so many more years 

to live in this body

si dulcemente

si pasen las olas dulces
del río
en el pie de los jóvenes
beberé té en una mesa grande
y
si ese río sea
invisible
del estacionamiento en la colina
miraré al árbol
caído dos veces por rayos

las luciérnagas paradas
en la distancia
de meses y estaciones
disconocidos

o amor al cuello

tu cuello es una
caracol

curling and guarded
slow slow slow
in the night

curfew

a promise now

to stay on cold streets

until almost midnight

to feel moments are 

adding up

to be some sort

of

best time

A letter

A letter
written in my lemon water says:
you can raise a baby in a studio apartment
build a translucent nomadic cube
as the baby's own little room.
You know all that you need to know
and you are ready.
Waiting is hard,
with signs like these.

Pure intelligence

in spades,
knows how to switch the tables
and keep the night lasting
forever.

otras partes

en mi pelo
es la historia del
otro pelo
nunca nacido

What a woman, hooks men like rugs

She weaves that fine
thinning hair of lover's
long past
culls
those cotton fields of
lazy kisses
of dawning light on
sweet slack cheeks

Energy glows at the lips

the reed in your teeth
is a lullaby to ears tender like kiwis
a pygmalian yodel
dips below the horizon
of descending strip malls
and your lips
glow in memory
of summer blueberries

For sun and moon and radio

third of three

The world draped in white sheets

cover the word in wrinkled white
call it bleak when it
hollows itself out

and in the middle
the quilt of slurs
stream along shutters

The thunder

in oaxaca 

the thunder comes down from on high

and finds us in our

matrimonial bed

Bravery on 10th street

At the gem shop on 10th street
The man wants courage
On christmas eve.
He wants clarity.
A rare piece
Of a meteorite,
A see through piece of
Courage,
An opaque, jagged clarity.

Pájaros

second out of three

the romance of the real world

one of three

Beyond what

Laundry steam presses up against
a rare soft/cold city air
not far from where the
tire swing killed the man last month.

You can give away your
adjustable can opener
or you can come home to
your brother frying bacon
with a lonely face.

You can straighten the path out
or keep reaching
behind your partner's back
beyond what