I know the sun has a center and Antonio Indio is a sol. I know long ago we ate cherry empanadas and gazed in a mirror as a flash lit our picture.

Customs try to smoke me out - they call out an alma mater with megaphones: Pay your dues! Mourn properly!

Laughing with calaveras is like watching every monarch's wing blur by­ a metro zooming under water - apricot and black windows screening abalone sunlight. Pop!

Carbon dioxide escapes my green tank mouth, and I don't yet know how to cast beyond phytoplankton, gather female cochineals for scarlet, look pain in the socket, or find the boy who suckled soybeans for milk.