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.