Aubade at 12:56pm
The draft in your windows wakes you.
A jazzman reads you D.H. Lawrence,
wishing your waist was muted trumpet,
your moans the notes to Corcovado.
The sun refuses the order to shine, to bathe
your closed eyes in winterglow, the deep
red purpose of your bedroom: I will
compose an ode to the Triboro Bridge,
the dervish upon which the city spins, wishing
I was Miles, playing what is not there.
I will love you at 12:56pm, wake you
open-hearted and magnificent,
I will make love to you because you are a city—
questioning light among descending clouds
orange blanket drifting up, then down,
touching fingers, creator and creation.
Speak softly when you rise: yours
is the kingdom of heaven. Hold me like a hand
at mid-afternoon dreaming the Portuguese words
for stay, forever;
Or, swim with me to the eternal.
Dream me the word in Portuguese
for what we are building.
Rich Villar's poems and essays have appeared in Rattapallax, Beltway Poetry Quarterly, Amistad, Achiote Seeds, and on NPR's "Latino USA." He has been quoted on Latino literature and culture by The New York Times and the Daily News, and he directs Acentos, an organization fostering community around Latino/a literature.
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