Reason collapsed

like Stari Most, a bridge

of five hundred years.

What do you know

of tears?

What you choose

to remember—

Beware.

K-Mart, San Antonio, Texas, 1986

FOR RUBÉN

When I can take you to the K-Mart

on South Santa Rosa at sunset,

and say, Meet me over by the flip-flops,

I’ve got to get me some socks.

When I can toss in the shopping cart

my tampons next to your Tres Flores

hair oil, my microwave popcorn, your

pack of white tees, my San Martín

de Porres three-day candle.

When we have finished paying

and can sit in the parking lot

satisfied, you and I,

with nachos and an Icee.

Then we can marvel

at a thousand black wings

swooping against the downtown sky.

Urracas urracando in the trembling trees.

Smith’s Supermarket, Taos, New Mexico, at the Fifteen-Items-or-Less Checkout Line

The baby-faced cholo in front of me

gently drops a divider bar between

what’s his and mine.

On my side, a six-outlet surge

protector for my computer,

and a fireproof glass cup

for my Lux Perpetua candle,

a votive so powerful

it self-destructs.

On his,

a plastic bottle of store-brand vodka.

It’s noon, but somewhere

it’s happy hour.

Baseball cap bad-ass backwards.

Black leather from neck to knees.

One brow and ear stitched with silver.

And on his neck, “Rufina” in wispy

ink I would kiss if I could. Fool,

it takes one to know one.

I drive away wondering

if Rufina is helping him

drink his bottle of forget.

Or if it’s she who is regret.

I write till the dark descends.

My cell warm tonight.

Candles. Copal.

Outside my window,

mountain without a moon.

Buddha in lotus.

Silent and still.

By ten, hot bath, lavender salts.

Flannel buttoned to the neck.

Am certain Rufina is not

as happy as I am tonight,

in bed with my love,

a book.

Noche, La Casa Magdalena, Lamy, New Mexico

FOR SUSAN AND BERT

i.

All night,

wind rattles

at my door

like an over-

sexed lover

wanting in.

ii.

Yellow

flowers

in your

Guada-

lupe

nicho

remem-

ber when

they were

wild.

Tired,

they furl

themselves

to sleep.

iii.

A borracho

slings a beer

bottle against

the sky.

One billion

trillion

stars.

After a Quote from My Father

FOR LEVI ROMERO

The floors are sticky

With golden leaves

The dogs and I track in

On the soles of our feet.

Winter clothes need

To be brought down.

Make the bed.

Comb hair.

Wash the body.

Sleep.

Too many to-do’s

Posted on

My nose.

Check bank balance.

Stop at vet.

Pick up spray

For fleas.

None say:

Look at the moon.

Write poetry.

Take you time, mija.

Take you time.

Wasps in the Buddha Bell

Must be deaf

or devout on

this A. A.

Milne–blustery day.

On this wind-like-a-

bugle Emily day.

Deaf or devout,

they neither

desert

their monastery

nor appear

enraged.

Bell gongs.

And they

pray.

Ommmmmm.

Ommmmmm.

Ommmmmm.