Three Poems

Siesta

On edge again, over nothing
Near to tears, when the curtain rattles
And only the warm wind enters
And not the scent of rain, he sees

Garance (it is the name of a flower)
Leaving the water as he approaches
And putting on her clothes.
She ages rapidly around the eyes.

Any more songs, he cries, any more stories,
Any more entering as sisters arm in arm
And leading me to believe you in the shuttered room
Barefoot on the marble

And you can look for me in spots of blood
Across the ponds of cotton grass.

Cold Night
...