morning cracks open, its soft fist spills over –
mourners go about their chatoyant business,
people spooning bad soup in hospitals.
I’m wondering if the peacock will unfurl, racking open
the idea of emerald. I`ve been here before – when I couldn’t sleep,
imagined I’d seen it, in the same way I’d hoped
a sculpture lit by camera flash would reveal a familiarity,
or slice of cantaloupe. something, anything. I need to believe in the it
in it is raining. the face of our Lady of Guadalupe
nests premonitions of drought, of one bean
for a whole family. pounded in water, sweetened by hands
so many of us! so many of us. a mantra dries
in the courtyard, firecracker-red, spent. the cages
so small at the zoo. I`m thirsty again.