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Amphibious morning skates along the maroon wall carrying orange blossoms in outstretched arms. Barbed wire veins, strung on iron pikes, loop, inescapably inward. Counter to my sense of economy, the text contains too many adjectives. In the Central Valley, day begins with cries of “listo.” Orchids perfume villas. Dreamers, unable to wake from a restless sleep sense storms, rags of wet smoke obscuring the vista. This poem has been written by a guest who fears the servants, not because they are dispossessed political subjects; instead, like the matron his hostess, he has no reason to give offense and so abides. |