We escaped the ravages of the Americans and you kissed all my wounds with the way you looked at me.
I brought you Spanish amber and orange blossoms, swept the rain from your porch, and threw flammables on your stars. Your wings were fractured stories that glowed moss-green in the night. In the morning my soul unfolded in concentric circles.
When you fell into a fever I undertook a vigil for forty days and forty nights at the tomb of St. Isadore, where the trees wept openly. I poured antidotes into the well, as the archangel instructed me, and watched your heart swell with joy.
Christ is a prism, you said, the universe is dressed in drag. Currents of light were pulsing all around you. Your tears were infinite mandalas. I had never seen anything so radiant. From then on we lived a life free from apocalyptic decrees. It looked like this:
an orange curtain blows back in a breeze, on the window sill a small terra-cotta vase with a woman's face sculpted into the side holds a single tiger lily. The walls are white. A gentle light, soft as cream flows through the window......