Two Evening Moons

            ^I

For Laurita, my sister’s friend

The moon is dead dead

— it will come back to life in the spring

when a south wind

ruffles the brow of the poplars

when our hearts yield their harvest of sighs

when the roofs wear their grass hats

The moon is dead dead

— it will come back to life in the spring

            ^II

For Isabelita, my sister

The evening sings a lullaby

to the oranges

My little sister sings

“the earth is an orange”

The moon weeping says

“I want to be an orange”

You can’t be — my dear — 

even if you turn pink

or a little bit lemon

How sad!