July/August 2023

        The heart, it hoards—
how I know this—

The small, strangled
        shining room Keats lost
his life in—and to—

beyond the window sunlight
        arranging itself
on the Spanish Steps

while the poet watches.
        Outside, snapshots
of the tourists

& teenagers tired
        of what they don’t
know yet. What will

become of us? Ash.
        Unasking. The death
…

I swim my laps today, slowly, slowly,
reaching my arms out & over, my fleshly oars,
the water silken on my skin, my body still able
to be a body & resting at the pool’s lip,
I watch other bodies slip through the blue,
how fast the young are
& how old they become, floating, floating,
forgetting the weight of years
while palm trees…

Di, tú o tú, cualquiera, ¿a qué tanta risa?, ¿qué celebráis?

Hoy reímos de que acabó el día
y no nos agotó la pena.


 
——



Di, tú, o tú, ¿tocáis algo?, ¿hay un porqué
a las manos extendidas?

Algún día caerá el fruto, decimos.
Ahora solo sujetamos el peso
del día.


 
——



Porque al secreto le sigue la revelación alimentamos …