"Love of My Flesh, Living Death"

after García Lorca

Once I wasn’ t always so plain.
I was strewn feathers on a cross
of dune, an expanse of ocean
at my feet, garlands of gulls.

Sirens and gulls. They couldn’ t tame you.
You know as well as they: to be
a dove is to bear the falcon
at your breast, your nights, your seas.

My fear is simple, heart-faced
above a flare of etchings, a lineage
in letters, my sudden stare. It’ s you.

It’ s you! sang the heart upon its mantel
pelvis. Blush of my breath, catch
of my see — beautiful bird — It’ s you.