Obscure, Iridescent My love is a multicoloured, sparkly thing, resides upon tree, below butterfly’s underwing; concealed in the pattern of starling and sparrow flight, serene through the ages, revealed when the moment right. It’s there on the breeze, with each first flake of winter snow, approaches and leaves as it pleases (thinks no one knows), freewheels through the ether, forms various cloud constructs, expands under surface, still trickles down mountain bluff, cascades ro

I saw a moth resting on the garage window, no doubt tired of the brutal summer day. For no intelligent reason I nudged her, poke and poke until she flew for me. Though not a butterfly, she danced like the best of them and if she was tired then what a beauty it is to be tired. She had a splendid garden to land on, but she chose the ugliest tree. A camouflaged lizard attacked and ate the dear moth right before me. And so I make this note: please future me, let moths be. Armando

What the Body Keeps Quiet The body is not a vault but a hallway with bad lighting. Every door I pass knows my name. A bruise blooms before the story arrives. A tremor practices what I won’t say. I drink water like an apology. I sleep like someone waiting to be forgiven. Inside me, a small animal paces the ribs, counting exits. I tell myself this is only memory. But memory has teeth and remembers how to bite. Instructions for Standing Still Stop pretending movement equals esca