Thursday, March 6, 2014

Fascicle of Amity: 14

At times mysteries are foretold.

If Cathleen was and is my wife
Esperanza lives in my dreams,
where when she disrobes
I lie naked and pull her on me
to put myself inside her,
surely one way to dream of hope
in this country promising life.

Icicles plummeting,
the sun rumored to be near,
thaw melts by day
and freezes with the falling dark.
Nothing here stays whole.

In Mexico blooming orchids
fresh from the jungle
fill a street vendor’s cart,
all sold by nightfall in San Angel.

To make a way through ancient, tangled trees,
all day I wield a machete
to open the only path
that grows invisible under the moon,
and when I turn back at dawn
I carry the fragrance of orchids home.

If only Esperanza were here now,
what would I not give to sleep between thighs
I dream, her lips all over me?

Remember pulque’s resin on our tongues
soothing our bodies for the plunge through sleep.

(25 February–6 March 2014: II)

copyright 2014 by Floyce Alexander

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