Ghazal of Córdoba

At the quoin of the hostel, she awoke in binding cloth,
Bleating like the goat-head before bucking his victim.

Ruins are fertile, changeable, the stucco pyramid and
Jaguar sandal curve from pregnant nectar wreaths.

The jade’s stolen in the bulb above her head, their colonial
Boots crush her catechism and newspapers in the trash bins.

She sneaks into the earflare lounge to siphon roaches
Under the watercooler next to the plaster casts of scarabs.

Box-cutters drink to their lady sirens as they leaped from
The planks to the frieze of saffron gulls on the candelabra.

The Yugo El Toro died in a mallard swarm, the motor washed
Up on Galveston shore where they eat the Spanish bull as prize.

Ci uthan meant “so they say;” Córdoba named it Yucatán,
Its stelae are half-shaved in the nape of oversized vines.