And What If

by Sergio A. Oritz

and what if the clothes
don't fit with comfort, does it matter,
or is it a matter of why? what if I sit and quietly

wait for the sun to return to my eyes,
eyes that have swum in steam where roses
loosen their oils. what else could I do?

and what if I collect teardrops, which I do,
what kind of misty river would you see?
what if my shadow finds the wind

that brought us together. I could borrow
his soft slippers and leap
from rooftops. you lied to me

but I promised not to lose a single night
of sleep. I too shall have the very best
to wear on thoughtless nights.

and what was lost? there are poems written
on the leaves of trees where I sought to rest,
ecstasies you've never seen or heard.

miracle vendor, my face
has the dry expression of bones,
yet I no longer maintain a need for water.

From Caveat Lector, Vol. 21, No. 1