My cup’s the same sand colour as bread.
Rain’s the same colour of a building across the street,
its torn red dahlias
and ruined a book propped on the sill.
Rain articulates the skins of everything,
pink of bricks from the fire they baked in,
lizard green leaves,
the wrinkled tongues of…
Mi amor, I’m surrounded by mountains.
I’m inside their ring, one never to know
a ring finger. I miss the pueblo of our
nakedness. A magnet pulls at me tonight,
the opposite of the Pacific Sea’s name.
I tire of burying sunsets in this nuevo west,
of turquoise shops selling the wrong sky,
i’m gonna cry