the world touching a thought // a funnel of naked . . .

when the wind blows / I’ll know direction is just another way / of saying come home.

Poem translated from the German by Anatoly Kudryavitsky and Yulia Kudryavitskaya.

listen to ceiling opening / to sky, a blue such as you’ve never tasted

His loved body / hosts the virus.

Tarnished brass trumpets, / guitarrónes and violins strain / to reconcile.

A desire / with hooks on its wings.

Get to the point. The year is old, / love—keep me warm.

I bow to daffodils for their / stabbing audacity in grim weeks of winter.

their fallen leaves pale commas / on the text of dry earth.

La Alameda flashes lapis in / a platinum face you love

I put “love” in my mouth / swallowed hard, felt it go down my throat

(What is there / if not honesty, a good ear, a place / to call home?)

What will you do if you can’t / divide perfectly in two?

She said that we’re born bad, unable to rinse / the dirt from our blood

Outside, the night sky is / writhing with spirits

But / it was the breath / that kept coming back

“that iconic neck, existing / purely for beauty’s sake— / until you take your picnic”

I have one breath left and I’m learning / how to say it all at once.

A farmer or baker could have served just as well. / There are many figures of speech.