I shift in my sleep and dream-sing
the green parrots.
Let the crystal veil of rainfall drop
Let light through thunder drum
the dog gave birth inside the dirty old
pool shed with inflatables all around
and tender blanket
Her name is Como Tú.
“Like you,” it means, a joke
that makes more sense in this
Here the turquoise questions drifting past
finally find a place to ask:
When is a bay no longer a bay?
And when is it the sea.
That cresting hill still draped in undergrowth —
how hard is it to climb up?
How hard is it to go with someone else and
how hard is it to come back
forever and ever