I. 

It rained tonight.

The amber streetlight,

the feathery leaves of mesquite,

the soft wisps of rain.

We’re talking again, he said, me and Samia

            They broke up when she laughed over 911

Is that good, I said. Did you smooth it out?

Yeah, he said, but I don’t know,

she brings up this love thing again.

How’d you do that, I said.

I don’t know, he said,

picturing the rain in her hair

5000 miles away.

II.

Sedona’s the only landscape of red

Steve knows

and the summer tide, the only sea of red

he knows

He’s sound asleep by 9.

III.

Peter Jennings sports a 5 o’clock shadow

round the clock these days.

His once honeyed voice drones and cracks

over pictures of a fairy tale gone wrong.

Bastards, Steve says,

Lucky, I said, that you’ve gone this long…

IV.

Perhaps, the Sikh killed in Phoenix yesterday,

means less than Wall Street crashing today.

Just ask the women in Juarez.

Mindfulness is trivial

when collective passions

seek revenge.

The president might be tempted to declare war, I said,

Find any excuse, I said.

You always have to be so negative, he said.

V.

Larry’s worried about me.

Can’t you just avoid talking about it, he said.

Avoid it, I sighed. 

Carmen snuck out of Santiago into exile

in the middle of the night

Rene slipped back into El Salvador into the awaiting arms

            of Contras

and Che’s skeleton is missing both hands!

VI.

I called Irma last night to talk.

Do you want to meet, she said.

The tension is familiar.

I grew up half-breed among fair-skinned girls.

I learned English with a twisted tongue and forked pen.

I was born on the border where folks meet in mistrust.

I traveled secretly to Russia.

I cannot be too careful.

Only in my dreams, do I speak freely in my own home.

VII.

This first day of the eleventh month

is overcast.  In crisp autumn air and corn blue sky,

I swaddle memories of the dead.

My heart quivers with gratitude

Swells with blessings

I have no reason to mourn.

For Dario