August 3, 2011

Morning loops seamlessly
through the bedroom window
and the shower drips
happy news of your cleanliness
long after your sound ceased to echo.
Your purse rustle was peaceful
as my dreamland flashed on.

There is no need to explain
the deep seed of your movement
from where I live to where you work.
A degree or two rise in the atmosphere
proves your warm body swarms outside
in generally-accepted circles of enterprise.

The pesos you trade
for chocolate and bus fare fund movements
that can’t adapt to the mayhem
the way you slide through
stoplights with a smile

yet the muffled traffic
gathers at my window confident
I care about its movement
the way I care about yours—

You don’t know I’m barefoot on the rooftop
wondering if the neighbor is naked behind
the red curtains and cacti’d balcony.

You don’t know I’m weaving dollar signs
into a rescue net so you won’t have to free-fall
from innocence into the calculated world of money.

You don’t know—
and I’ll never bother you with the details—
that past sins add depth to my attempts at perfection,
that I’ve swam oceans in the wetness of your eyes.

LOCATION: Buenos Aires, Argentina – Valeria went to work early while I slept late; later I sat on the terrace working through her yoga business plan.

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