|
My
brothers wield thin torches through Urbino
or
Leon, where gypsy tents blossom
like
carnivals—a blur of silk, glint of steel
or
flame.
Parents sent me half way around
the
world to forget their scorched throats,
but
university lectures filled my lungs
with
smoke.
Vagabonds found sparks
of
memory from before my birth.
Crowds watch
my
act with Hellish delight.
My mind smolders,
but
they just want fiery tricks.
My flames
should
be kindled from ancient wood foraged
by
village maidens.
Here girls use what’s left
of
my library for their watery plays.
From the back
of
the tent I watch Nina flutter like light. |
