andalusian love poem, #2
Friday May 8, 2009
always the very moment before the moment after
you begin a question with “remember when?” I will consider
you coring in the Yukon and me in Plaza de San Francisco in Sevilla
with its fiery orange trees, taking a stand,
many centuries after the last burning
of the inquisition
we were separated, our sciences having split us
to approximately opposite sides of the globe.
your mosquitoes, my flies.
your treeline, my marismas.
inuit and flamenco.
white birches, moor arches.
open skies, limp fountains.
my letters tender and salacious,
your phone calls in my-morning.
I listen to your breath
and imagine your fingers wet.
