“witho*t *,” “w*thout *,” and “my ten cents”

in small acts i

carry what came from before me

that fire where:

earth met heat, kept shape, kept catechisms

on my lips.

the searing air where nails

flatten into razors and

shine with the mean of metal,

striking satisfaction at the

flight of a phrase.

i’d be a poor cook and a

fine speaker, a bright toothed one

taller than the room that forces

that bend in my spine,

makes my throat thick.

if the thread had never taken me, i might be

a siren free of ash, silver bells that dance,

following a road with grass in my hands

and a name i made. i might feel mercy

and iron.

yet all i have is goldwire wrapped all over, a

knot and star, then bridle and halo,

holding

even as i go.

she gets the cheapest seat and at take off,

orders a Coke to break even.

draws a map on her lap

as she makes her way to Monsaraz.

she learns warm noons on the sand,

buys a red dress because the clouds are a lovely shape

and dances com estranhos who become hers.

from the hotel tap, she washes clothes by hand and

daydreams of a future that

folds the oceans to storybooks,

flattens towers to dough,

and lays her feathers down

for earth.

scoffs, and

soars.

*com estranhos – with strangers

an orange wisp,

turns in its bag

a pocket of breath,

the kind that fits inside a palm

without protest.

a dime. less, maybe,

if you count the tax.

a steal for a little

buoyancy, a little dumb gold

believing itself eternal.

i’m glad that it cannot know

the exchange that made it mine,

and that it swims

without the burden of

price or pity.

if it did, perhaps its breath

would be a mirror.

this is to say, it is beautiful

the world allows for such trades,

to watch something that does not know

how cheap it is.

to live beside it,

its small mouth opening

again, and again,

as if the world were endless water.

i think:

how precious is life,

how i would like a dozen.