I’ll write

You a word or

Two, here in

The dark, here’s

My word sounding

Bright through the

Night, I hope,

To you over

There, squared

Out in my mind’s

Eye, through the

Cold dead window

Blocked out with

Ice-mist then

Blind.

Comfort my night,

Warm my thin

Neck and cool

Teeth , set crooked

On this tongue.

On Life stood a long day

Set up coolly

With meditation

And loud water

Gushing through

Fingers into basin

Some thoughts came

Through in the night,

Shivers formed,

Fizzed through the

Limbs, chimed in

The guts. Round

The feet they sowed

Their seed, little

Saplings of thought

Too small to see

Their leaves and

Give them a name.

Let me stand tall

And bright,

Strengthened by

The residue of

Love, sweetly

Lasting on.

When he will

When he wants to

When he needs to

Feel my warmth

Touch his, back to

Chest and chest

To back, ribs to

Cheek and head

To chin.

Let him look

Away and dwell

There for a while

Tasting air, different

From mine.

Let him stay there

If the taste is good

And that air teems

Thick with Life,

Thicker than mine,

For him.

Look up at you

Smiling down on your

Malecon*, Drawing the waves close to lovers

Making the sea spray

Them with foam

While I sit high up

And far away, over

Havana but not of

Or in her, suspended

Beyond blotchy balcony                                                                                         

And spotless faded sheets

Hanging over windows

Crisscrossed with tape

From the last hurricane.

Need a Cuba Libre, extra

Rum and maybe even Santiago,

To fill this gaping aching hole

Between my ribs that

No sunsetted dome or

Timba drum can fill.

Through a clear

Head back to brain

Down, round the

Soul and down

To feet and toe

Bones lain on the

Cool Floor,

Feeling the cold

Hum of the house

On the street

Buzzing with cars

And shaking with

Trees in the wind.

Out it flows

Lungs compress,

Cupped above the

Stomach,

Up it gusts through

Teeth to air

Outside, inside the

Room and part

Of the world, warmed

Up by flesh.

The whole.

Sing it deep with

Red velour and

Tie it firm with

Goose fat hands,

Soft round the

Edges, fence of

Time, kept still.

The well of today

Has brought up

A bucket full of

Thirst on a long

Thin string ready

To crack with not

Much weight, Tight

Already.

The line’s tug is

Felt from above,

Where the knots

Rub sores on the

Bar of wood

That straddles the

Dead round hole-

Soul drop, below the bar.

The bar is my brain,

Pain is the knot

And the rope

Is my self

Whom I have taught

To expect Nothing. Neither

Bucket life and

But there is more

Rope and more depth

And more pain

And water, too, if

I plunge in again

This blip of the

Heart that makes

Hands reach to

Stop the throat with

Something stodgy, grainy

Overdose.

Wave it off,

Now is here.