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My La Moreneta,
you were not rendered
by the hand of St. Luke,
nor carried to safety
in the arms of St. Peter,
nor found by shepherds
in Sa..
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We traveled three hours along the coast,
passing gray dolphins dancing in white surf,
and migrant workers, stooped low to the ground,
picking..
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You understand now, in twilight's dimming,
that while in your full day's sun
there was nothing from which to choose:
all was an illusionary oasi..
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There is no unknowing you.
I believed I could be
thousands of miles
and several years away
and somehow learn
to unlearn
everything you are
..
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Oh, Saint Irene,
I finally understand
Why proud Thira
Calls you by name,
For it is in your
Winding streets and
In your basket vineyards;
I..
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Skyward, I lift my eyes.
Through the swaying palms
the half-moon appears suspended
between the end of day and
edge of night
and you wonder alou..
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Beyond the canopy
of wind-sculpted
umbrella pines,
and through the grove
of silvered olive trees,
I came upon
an endless field
of sunflo..
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"It's time for your nap" she whispered
as she laid me to rest in her single bed.
The window was open half-way and
through it I could s..
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Her spoons were wooden,
her whisk: a fork, four-tined and
stainless.
No microplane to zest her citrus and
nothingmore than a paring knife
to ..
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I crossed the bridge between midnight and dawn
and thought I heard you: whispers without a voice.
The breeze I knew to be the breath from your s..
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