Raza

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Raza


A flaming thumb cracks the hardback

of horizon, opening to us a complex 

text, the knotted kind with a pine-


scented secret that will not bare

its breast to any quick cut. Here 

is the lover who wants to be 


wanted, the puzzle that solves us

as we tear down the house looking 

for the missing piece. “My piece


I leave with you” we were told

once, felt the cool weight

of a Rosetta Stone pressed into 


our palms; it was so flat, so familiar,

we couldn't resist and skipped it 

across the water. The miracle is not


an answer or a clear bridge to the other side,

but how the ripples will not disappear, 

how even the stars refuse to quit dancing


on the surface of our diminishment,

the light bubbling and babbled

but buoyant, not yet lost in translation.

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