ninety mile an hour winds
garden stripped and ravaged

the eight sentinels, Sycamores
ragged and torn

all the red Fuchia flowers
gone

hardly any Bee food
left

there will be starvation
this winter.

I learned to love
long after angels forgot how.
Long after the timing made sense.
Long after most people would admit it,
maybe out of shame.

But I learned to love.

Y lo sé,
mi amor,
que aún
no te vas.
Pero si llega
mi vieja
mala suerte,
si el destino
me mira
de reojo,
por favor,
no me digas
adiós.

Si no, lléname
la nevera
de besos
y abrazos
que no se
enfrían,
por si me muero
de hambre
y no de pena,
por si me faltan
tus labios
en las madrugadas.

Esconde piezas
de ti debajo
de las almohadas,
entre sábanas
y bolsillos,
para hallarte
en los días
donde el sol
olvide mi nombre.

Lo sé,
mi amor,
no es tiempo
de marcharse.
Pero si el reloj
tropieza
con mi sombra,
si el adiós
se asoma
sin permiso,
por favor,
no me lo digas.
Solo quédate
un poco
en cada rincón
donde te soñé.

tip toes to an imaginary line
drawn in the sand,
speaks in shadows,

tenderness, raw and sharp.

raised by wolves
she chews to the bone.

kiss the wind
my love is gone.

Si muero, traducirías mis poemas?
¿Le contarías a tu parte del mundo sobre mi pueblo?
Si muero, interpretarías mis cartas?
¿Te contarías a ti mismo cómo eres mi universo?
Si debo morir, serás mis nuevos ojos?
¿Lo verías hasta el final, sintiéndote vivo?
Si debo morir, serás mi voz y mis manos?
¿Seguirías hablándole a todo, guiándome a la nada?
Si muero, por favor traducirías mis poemas, mi amor.
Por favor, cuéntale al mundo la historia de un reino sin corona.
Por favor, cuéntales sobre un amor que supera la lógica y la distancia.

//

If I die, would you translate my poems?
Would you tell your part of the world about my town?
If I pass, would you interpret my letters?
Would you tell yourself about how you are my universe?
If I must die, would you be my new eyes?
Would you see it through the end, do it while feeling alive?
If I must pass, would you be my voice and hands?
Would you still speak to everything, lead me to nothingness?
If I die, please translate my poems, my love.
Please tell the world the tale of a kingdom without a crown.
Please tell them of a love that surpasses logic and distance.

the rain won't lift.

it moans a low,
lonesome sound,
gives no mercy.

a window opens.

"i'm a little lost lamb," she tells me.

and I look up and she smiles at me,
she always smiles,. "Maggie," I sigh.

"what are you doing out on a night like this?" she asks.

"i long to dream in black and white
of deserted city streets
to waltz down at night in a cold rain."

it's summer and Maggie's
hanging out the window,
streetlight in her eyes,
her long ***** blonde hair
getting wet from the rain
hangs down around her face.

the dreamer of all the good dreams.
i have to tell her, "Maggie, you're
so beautiful."

"come up. I'll tell your future."

I shrug my shoulders, "I know the future. you die."

"not with me." she laughs softly
like a summer breeze
and her smoky voice whispers,
"your getting soaked, come up
the fire escape."

"so you're the lost lamb," i laugh,
"then what am i? the beckoning scarlet knight,
the golden moth drawn to your fire?"

"there's no music, Jack, but you know
the song too well."

"who chooses who we are,
what we become?

"no pity for us lost lambs."


whether lost or found,
the way a bird knows the sky.
i always know that where ever
I drift
or whoever I might become

I'd can always
find my way back to Maggie's window.