In secret ways I have always and forever
and elsewhere I am composing
new trills, serenatas, howls
internal thought and punctuation
and outside,
right here,
through and with the gin
with Angelo,
his Caribbean eyes,
skin blacker than the world’s own depths,
he brought me that night
the 12th pair of wings
but it was the 1st I knew
and since my blouse was long forgotten
and since anything can always, always
he kissed my shoulders, my arms,
attached the wings coarsely,
lifted me,
and with no need to say
that he would then and again,
anything can always always
particularly
in heat this palpable, dense,
particularly in blue,
especially in green Caribbean waters,
in and through his
symphony of ease, waiting
without question . . .