After “Las Formas Puras,” After Lorca

In memory of Anthony Kerrigan

The pure shapes of things shake and are fall

ing under the cry of bajo el cri cri

and chirping of the six margaritas

daisies that I loved but now know deflower

when the men bent upon murdering me bend

down in cabinets and on cliffs and in cafes

where some flamenco guitarist breaks his fingers

on the grave accents   /   /   /     breaks

his fingers on the acute

             \ \

                          hunting now

even in the graves under walls of tall iglesias

the well where I am not hides from

those who dug the gold from wisdom teeth

of the wise and dig it still and dig it

also from between my thin skeleton’s bowed ribs

but Ah

             \ \

                          will not find me any more but less

than six, the moon, de pronto, loss itself

disarticulated bones in hiding place    pues encore

my absence from I am

comprendo nonetheless the names

of pure shapes of things that shake and are fall

ing all loss los nombres under cry cry

the pure shaping things out of their somersault

out of themselves