Moon Mirrored, Indivisible
move, Moon, less west
of a word strung down to men
being just some couple guys borne
as tropes in a discourse
on rights—to express
to malcontent, the right to run that voice
along the walls of the agora
stretched to fit a reasonable night
coming on
and in the mirror I’ve said, immigrant
my name is argument
small as my means
weak as the custody of the one star
you mirror down trying to unearth
ancient huacos—vessels for gods
otherwise inhabiting local boulders
traffic circles, the Circle K
but I’ve been dreaming
of killer ghosts to be dealt with
in real-time ways like
breathe in, hold
turn away—blood
on my face
and shirt and hands—
from a wayward truth about great ancestors
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