the night swoons
to the hip-hop
of gunshots
and stars.
a young woman’s teeth
challenge
everything
about sorrow’s suitcase
of explanations
and i am learning to hope
like a bird
learns
its first
affair
with wind
and sun
like an orange
learns
to take flight
into the mouth
of a boy
in summer.
the trees are prophesying.
the mountains are waiting
for the long trek to the sea
and the sea
waits
like a lover
anticipating the kiss
of three thousand
lost kisses.
the night swoons
and the trees
begin their blue-black
dance
in the wind.