La Noche
Gay Brewer
Imagine that Garrucha
smoldered like a lost city
between the
mountains that
defined her, imagine
the mountains were black
walls. Would you rest
your forehead,
hope the wind sufficient
to keep flies off skin?
It never is.
Imagine that the
garden flowers, so cared
for, surrendered
color for an off-hand
shade of who can say?
Imagine that every
life arrived here.
Would you succumb to
such dry, indifferent kisses?
What if the peaks of
the mountains,
the glow between them
on the shore, were a
proposition of clarity?
Now imagine an
animal you have never
known, coughing
its plaintive response
for hours
across the desert valley.
And then what happens?
