Conduelo mi hermana, conduelo

No hay palabras que ofrecen

Ha sido la noche muy

Aunque ha sido asi te recomiendo

Que no sigas con la cabellera tapada

Con la melena amarrada

Sino levante la cabeza

Para recibir la brillante mañana

Conduelo mi hermana, conduelo





I wanted to love like Christ loves children

And widows and grandmothers

I wanted to love like Mordecai loved Esther

But my heart refused

Insisting that my love be like

The love of a honeybee for its nectar

Like the love the dawn has for its horizon

Like the love two hydrogen have for its oxygen

To form water

Which is loved by every sun-tried

Traveler and their beast of burden

Which is what I wanted to be

To carry you through the dessert

But my heart insisted that I be

The stowaway cargo making your

Bedouin headdress more purposeful

Which is what I wanted to be

To protect you from the

Whirling wind carried sand

Which weighs down your hand

And that is what I turned out to be

The sand


I wish to be a mirage


New Mexico

It would suit me to be sitting in a cafe
in a dimly lit corner booth with the walls
painted with the red of the dress of the dancer headlining Flamenco Week

You scornfully poke fun at me because I have so easily given up my tears upon the first measures of all live performances we have ever seen

I allege you have no heart
turning your smile into a laugh

I say they are a tribute I pay to the years
of their pain that led up to this day
that I might be entertained

Just for a split second your eyes betray confusion unsure if I was
serious or clowning

And you give the rebuttal saying,
“How valuable could tears deposited in
every hat at every street corner be?”

And we both laugh

As I grab a handful of bottle to warm your glass you competently slide mine closer, simultaneously skooching over

And we muse more about our darling

How the lines around her eyes and the burst vessels around her irises were
incongruent with her youth and beauty

Had she been crying intensly inconsolably in her privacy?

Her body tense and shaking
her face contorted as if screaming
without a sound?

Astonished to discover her willingness
to consider a new lover
and other matters to awful to mutter out loud?

And then you confess to me that you love flower gardens but you despise poetry and then adoringly kiss me hard on the cheek

So I change the topic to flower gardens, and for the rest of time I would never make fun of you for what they mean

That’s where I want to be

I long to be in Albuquerque
To see the happenings
During Flamenco Week