Infanta calls from the islands where she’s working on “the script,”
That tapestry of travesty, carefully warping the details of this life along
Some more persuasive weft. She says she knows I’ve had it hard lately,
& after my silence, she replies, Ah, I can hear you’re back in your cell!
So I say, What? Then she says to me once more, I said I can tell
That you’re back in your shell…. So I say again, What? Just call me
On my cell, she says, as the signal fades, & the air goes cold & blank.