marquezian eves

sticky, sweet, and fragrant summer nights

i give you gardens and you till the earth
and every breath
leaves hurricanes
in corners
i never knew i had

when neruda can’t hear me
i turn to you
for echoes
to beat back from solitude

and i hear silences
become soliloquies
under the endless roof
of sticky,
and fragrant
summer nights

this, my life, given –

coaxing moments from words,

to finding stories
in spaces
no one can see,

is a life
caught wresting
words trapped
from my rib cage

when all i want
is to breathe



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4:00 a.m.

I will always try to find you
in words that rise
from the empty spaces
of my mind

because every corner
still has footprints
worn into

the cold stretches
of skin wrapped
around my body —

innocuous words, they tell me.

safe words, strewn on the floor, pricking and gnawing their way through the night when no one is awake long enough to see them dancing

Like pins falling
with a clattering

and so I step
on these words
with calloused feet

to gather them back
and hold them close again

because you will
always leave

just as you

have never been.

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bare feet

walk barefoot

on this ground 

where the ghosts

of times past 

become grains 

of sand, lodged 

firmly underneath 

your toenails –

walk barefoot 

on this land 

to hear 

whispering tales 

of voices locked

in the broken stones 

of crumbling ruins – 

walk barefoot 

to tiptoe around 

the fire and ash 

in the wake 

of dusky twilights 

and watch these stars 



burning in their own 

flames –

walk with bare feet

to let the water

come and touch 

your feet and envelop 

the voices lingering 

in your head 

and plant trees 

with the dead skin 

washed away

to unknown shores – 

walk with your bare feet 

and tread soft

on these pebbles 

waiting to turn to sand

walk with your bare feet 

on this land that belongs 

to the night 

and the rising sun 

and to you 

and to me


with your bare feet

for this ground will

forever remain 

forever, remain, holy.

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09. in neruda’s dreams

because love hadn’t waited
for the confluence of stars
to come back around
for the first time –

because the windows
in my home had shut themselves
behind curtains of silk
and time had stopped
for a little while

or maybe it was an eternity?

i couldn’t tell
whether the moon had risen
or the sun had faded
from the sky –

there is no when
or where
or how

when the universe between
you and me breathes
and knocks against
your heart beating.

because what is, is.

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08. the weight of time

the weight of time
carries errant, unbridled lines
running fast into
the hollow emptiness of nowhere.

the weight of time,
with the frivolous burden

Of hope

is as precious as it is
heavy, here, when I watch
these years years of my life
change into colors
of fury and brilliance.

because aren’t these
the moments before
darkness begins?

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07. millan

my light waits
for your fire.


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06. rukhsati

when you leave,

you will not see me
still standing
at the doorstep,

still watching you
melt into the horizon,

still leaving the door
unlocked, still unwilling
to take the key away from
its secret hiding corner,

still unable

to walk back to our bed,


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