Last night the full moon was in eclipse.
The eclipse was pink. I sat in a courtyard with other
Romantics and watched the pink prepuce embrace
The moon. Coco-from here-married an Italian,
Walter. Their home, off Revolution Square, is a café.
Jave is a regular. He had invited me to meet him there.
The moon fled higher. Her edge shone brighter.
I met a young woman, Mayra, a warrior who wore
My shawl for the evening. I called El Papa la papa
And blushed when I heard myself. I flirted
With a handsome man, Ricardo. We talked about
The moon and pitied cities. We agreed to go
To Cuba while Fidel is still there. I drank
More than I wanted. Jave walked me home.
The moon was full, straight overhead, the earth's
Pink shadow had pulled back into the sky.

03.11.10