Does this happen at sea and in the cold?
Is the cold hard and built of bricks?
Is woman made of a substance like chocolates?
In his spongy memory, does he eat his child who will die?
Neither my mother nor my aunt at death’s door before 70,
abraded by years,
knew their son would depart so soon
climbing stairs of shredded paper, bleeding without ruining a thing.
They'd climb to clouds placed strategically,
prisms in the cold light of that bitten host.
Under the black sky, white rocks glimmer
in their dry creek bed,
dispersed by a wild impulse that only days ago
passed through the faithful water
nerve and life. Crickets and frogs croon:
The speed of those voices
now crashes at the wall
fatality on the other side.
Tight-lipped, on foot, with your body present,
we see the alleged heaven where we will exist.