tertian fever at six-

teen – raptured by a lover

from faraway, a National Geographic

country – we glistened

in the dark, he spoke like a song – afterward

all dream-

swept I climbed

the stairs to my roof

ignored nattering blanks

looked up at concrete sky – sitting

under the city-

sun on towels laid in

tar - scribbled

love sonnets in a note-

book lined in blue

to keep my writing straight in spite

of all my com-

passions – I wrote for posterity

or next week whichever

came first.