I can't think of anything more. We shared a beer or two, and we left each other: Stay safe, stay clean, stay real. I'm pretty sure I'm staying real, Eliseo. Pretty sure.This is the last poem he sent me:
Fragments of Your Broken Mirror
a lion-like yawn
ghost surface of water
moonlight on rows
of unkept tombstones
a glass full of white wine
exhaled smoke
the fragile arc of your smile
the shape of
your touch
any morning in spring
a small bird singing
in your heart
the last and brightest light
of a dying star
being afraid to move
hidden pictures
in the ceiling
make-up in the
orange light
another curse, old and
familiar.
gently, I help you pick up the pieces
and only manage to cut myself
twice
the last shard grins
through a mouthful of blood
but mirrors only know the taste
of reflected light
I put my cut fingers into
my mouth
and taste the pulse, the music
of my heart, tongue sliding across
the song of
a small bird
all the reflected moments of your life
and mine
scattered across the floor
like crazy laughter
made of glass
and in the enormous silence
that follows
your hand slips into mine
and we reflect
one another:
pure sky seeing itself in the surface of
the open sea
where nothing ends
anymore.
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