When the caldera breaks open
again, everything will telescope
to the immensity of our fears
then scale back so that we might know
intensely, the truths of the world
we refused to see at last— In that
precise instant, before our shared
oblivion, the soft but sharp edges
of jasmine opened by heat; and the emerald
currents our bodies never completely
surrendered to, though our souls were thirstier
than fish. In a dream I saw the air
waterfall with the most transparent dying
of orchids, with the scales of a rare
white python uncoiling from the roof
of the world. It didn’t rain
anymore; and there were no more winds
or wildfires. There was a road
shiny as foil on which we lay
side by side, looking for the moon.
By then it didn’t matter if we forged
our travel documents or if our feet
were unclean. By then the word
insurance ceased to matter.
By then we would have— should have—
bent to kiss like a beloved child
every bone wearing shackles
stacked in the ditch.