No puedo tener mi amante 
 but I can have this
 sunset porch with candles lit 
 with music lit 
 a gel of orange warm fire 
 against my watered down 
 bewilderment
 my cat and I pretend to 

 live in Spain 
 and listen to the outdoor 
 speakers cast Latino waves 
 into the double-dyed and 
 moonlit air 

 it drips 
 like new batik
 across a slope of lawn wet 
 through, as 
 trains in bellybands
 trundle on to border towns 
 and flatten copper pennies
 for your thoughts, or for
 mine, in each of their 
 untangled finished 
 and unfinished ends.