And they lie at the edge of light alone
at the place where snow never hits
Kahlo embraces Diego’s barebone
and they emanate heat.
Tender are the nights spent in a haze.
Stone-cold the days. Sharp-cut.
In this city that reflects the rays
against its windows — constantly shut.
And when I looked up at the sky —
hazy and blind.
With the crescent purple and yellow like an eye
after a fight.
A mere splinter I am,
a mere speck
and your light.
We will sit hand in hand on a bench
old and pure,
sinful, human, drenched
in life that offered no cure.
“It’s not too late, you can still look back
at the red towers of your native Sodom,
the square where once you sang, the spinning-shed,
at the empty windows set in the tall house
where sons and daughters blessed your marriage-bed.”
what i have asked, Lord, you have granted
thank you for the days
for the rays
that fall slanted
across the face
again April is here
with its sun of brass
and its moon of steel