salamanca

a dragon sleeps, wrapped around us, under these old hills

enchanted mountains of the Seneca

they say we're living on a fault,

maybe He sleeps to wait?

Nebraska dies. The mirrors turn. His place is set

for three days he lives with no body with you

on the fourth day, staring into your face, you try not to look

past it, for him, for the place to follow through.

bruised sky swelling out into the world, moist and swollen, the

grass sinks around my steps. electric blue night and me creeping

still over a too impatient lawn

through atmosphere to the buried

too far, too close

and pausing with a racing mind, calculating distances, and years

that strech out into seconds. I arrive at a well summed fear, a

panic to turn due to unknowns, secrets, unmeasurable things i

feel.

------------------------------------------------

did you see it?

got scared let's go

my door slams, gravel crunches,

our safe SUV detours on "road closed".

and driving, she says to go and see You, still.

i say stop. and she stops.

we sit throned on leather seats, stiff backs, breaths unreleased,

like Victorians perched on the edge of space.

across, the road continues.

I shut my eyes to think of what's below, my scientific mind plays

out the laws, there must be plunks with ripples, sinking stones,

settling on the green moss disturbed with a cloud of dust, washed

away, clarified as we breath in this not yet dead safety ...

somehow saved.

to graciously turn back in gentle shock

i rest slumped on the open window,

breathing at 50 miles an hour. the rain pelts my skin,

but it feels too close no matter how fast we go

easter morning I leave for good,

I step out of the bus into reaction and evidence.

warm sun hair blood limp head the glass and silence

to feel for breath, my hand under the face, looking just like i

remember you.

cairo

ramses square shines. white traffic, cracking the night like a

crystal sleeve outstretched around her.

disel fumes season our meal

like steam rained back up to the sky

breeze passes my face, her red black hair shakes, as in spring,

you hear leaves, and know. now winter is gone.

she lifts her glass to her lips.

who is coming? he seems to ask.

she looks up at him.

i place my napkin on the table and we walk down the stairs

through a teal tiled hallway,

to the cairo night club,

befor us, double doors open like bull fighter capes, gracefully

spread by dark men with satin shirts for our entrance into plum

light, white smoke lingering up from ones mouth greets us.

muslim-world music holds a different message, with wailing at

core. pleasure is whailing, softly heaved, crying into something,

like a wine glass. your body pushes me ahead. but i don't want

to go.

tomorrow, at dawn, when we just fall asleep, the light posts will

wail,

from sleep, awake, afraid, displaced.

do you hear it i ask?

early morning prayer, you say into the pillow.

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