I find you there in all things—
Santiago in memory, prays
Mary over Mare, and I,
maybe five, wondered at light. How
the mountain gave him reason
to sing for his brother, Miguel, O
hermano. That bullets didn’t pierce
the vortex, Guapa. Keep love inside.
You. Like this as he bent
bones from Her eye, I,
maybe five, prayed—
Speak me inside
pine. Breathe my body.
Tongue-want or Nothing.