A wave broke.
A vase fell.A crying woman disappears behind a door.
The man outside can only wait.The shoes he learned to tie no more
Than particulate matter.He wonders what a boat would look like
On a lake fully drained,What a frog would cost if it were
The only one,Why the bells of St. Mary’s lie cracked
In the sun and the baldheaded child eats
Food that is not there.This and other things he says out loud
To the still air.The woman will dry her eyes.
She will reappear.Hands that bleed are hands that work.
A wedding gown is being readied even nowBy senoritas with pincushion lips
No longer begging for a kiss.Space will be found in some chamber
Of their lovers’ hearts.No eviction notices will be served,
And between two shelves of booksA stranger will be heard to say,
It is here that I can be myself.April 2005
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