You will not discover in my dying body’s kidneys’ yield, who.
All your theory of that and the other is false. Nor is any
woman simple. We encompass men before they’re birthed

I have forgotten my name. I am not Borges
(Borges died at La Verde, under fire)
Nor am I Acevedo, dreaming of battle,

    Lack-luster      We told them these were our “long, empty
     friends and     hours” and that we’d nap or primp,
acquaintances     but instead we rose to all the trappings

Into Miami at night then out over gulf island and jungle

We had traveled so fast that we arrived
on the right bank of the RÍo de la Plata

Numeral calculations done in blood
were wildly calligraphized on white wood.

Adjusting my thoughts, you are luminous,
throwing a planetary light on the room.

And up these pulsing joyous stairs
they would climb into bed

In a moment
we will all fall into the lair
called the past.

I know that mirrors can start fires—
and why shouldn’t they

No ground, no figure. An immense canvas,
which I will never finish.