Nighttime in San Miguel is teeming and rich
and swirling with twilight. The sun fades...

All through the evening I chase you
from couch, to wall, to floor...

Two dollars for the gravedigger.
Three on a Sunday, to put...

Shocked, because there
in a twist over my shoulder...

They say the rain is light
like kisses; those poets fancy...

It's storming outside, in that
theatrical, brooding, wallowing...

Fairies are not pretty;
that's the commonest of errors...

If this, my pen,
could rightly scratch the surface...

I work in a school
full and full of women...

The dancers take the darkened stage
in a shuffling shimmer of sound...

There are some things I know,
and the rest are steeped with me...

Here is my deception,
made for the sake of my...