When you die, she used to say to me, my fears will end.
—PABLO NERUDA, MEMOIRS
Explain
about the hand
the infection
raised
from some
nostalgia
a tropical dream
of Wednesdays
a bitter sorrow
like the salt
between the breasts
the palm
a lotus
a brown girl
around the neck
sleeper tell
me
the ones
you held like me
the ones who loved
your hard wrists
and belly
this
tiger circle this
knife blade
man I have no power
over