Within 電 a field poetics:
sky, rain, lightning over la milpa—
components in the symbol

I shall have Beauty underground.
Poppæa was once in my tumbrel, you see.
So were blithe Helen and white Iope

XXXIV

We are falling through the abyss      Voices, of terror,
come to me I try to answer but sense

even higher
among the oaks
there is nothing but oaks

we had climbed up the mountain
towards the colossal figure of the temple
now reduced to ruins

I am riding down Fifth Avenue on a bus. A woman touches my leg and speaks of forests. My need unfolds like a newborn’s limb, stiff and uncertain. She whispers close and I tremble as we reach my stop.

Yes these are mine

I carry them from shower to dreams

and sniff them in dark dawns

Last night
At Mother Tomas’,
We danced the

Wedding night
Graciela bled lightly—
But enough to stain his thighs—

Ah, to rise one morning
With the ability
To strum a guitar