1.
In the verdugo woodlands, I saw a falcon
make his slow descent upon
what I mistook for a gardenia—one animal
sinking claws into another
like a bouquet of red and white. Some
interpret the owl as
a good omen, others
believe it holds the soul
of a tormented man. Verdugo, meaning
switch or whip or tyrant.
2.
I’ve loved with fists tied
but I keep thinking: you held
my hands last night, turning them over
and inspecting them like coins. Soft,
you said. I wanted you to lift one
to your face, to contemplate the knuckles,
brush them against your lips, like I did
with my mother’s as a child. I wanted to feel
your prickle. But I have learned
to be quiet as prey. What you don’t know:
I can moan into the mouth of the devil himself.
I can forgive.
3.
And what about that devil who peddled
my heart? In another life he’s sawing off
these same fingers that can coax the sheen
of hair on your arm to stand upright.
He wants to believe himself
a martyr, to be the crushing
orange light of dusk, the lone
kestrel that descends upon the field.
I have lured such vultures,
watched a hawk take the soft petals into its beak,
and without flinching, I asked,
what is that beautiful bird? Can it love me?