Offering You This Light in Handfuls

I appear among your many September days

I arrive at the ramparts toting the enemy’s plunder  

I know there is never more than one street to find

I salute your days under the abandoned aqueduct

I see through the breach livid glitter in your hair

I address myself to the heat of your narrow street

I am really at the end of your quiet alley

I the radiant vagrant of your urban murals

I the scent of your closed eyes when you dream

I the water rubbing against your hands

I the water that sharpens knives

I promise to sooth your luminous wounds

I want to hear poetry smoothed by your hand

I am speaking to the wind go ahead and laugh

I have plenty of time to start decomposing

I offer you no gestures nor exceptional signals

I offer you the salubrious humming of mirrors

I offer you the strident whine of humming birds

I offer flowers that complicate their own shapes

I am whistling down empty corridors 

I can hear you almost purring

I bear the mark of your breath on my forehead

I hardly feel my breath when I whisper your name

I assume several lives would not be long enough

I feel clean when I look at you