prowl Mérida

by kkmeow

the scaffolds are playing
like a virgin. a man
tells me that he knows
where the good hammocks are,
where the sleepswings are handspun
by the yucatanean heat,
where there is no polyesther.
where there never was.
i tell him when
someone sits in the shade
someone will always come
true,that wherever beauty hides
will carry me far away
again. he traces the invisible
square, and i see its constant
flooding of crows.
i think of how much harder it is
to forget a language
than it is to learn
one new.