We sit in spaces the dark
Clears for us Breaking soft
tallow off tapers As wind tears through
Our terraced mountains
Avocado and guava trees run out
Of ammunition And moan
their acquiescence Whatever remains
Unshredded in the morning
joins the new day’s litany a prayer
To gods who fall asleep
to the sounds of their own anger.
Purveyors of fine poetry since 2003.
