The Princess Resurfaces
What is an Inca princess
doing this far north?
I ask myself
before I drift off to sleep like an iceberg.
The seals gallop
in their forest,
and someone’s left a trumpet
in the vines.
Didn’t her people
retreat into the mountains?
It takes a stone rocket
for that kind of circumnavigation.
Sleep-stuff
leaves a thickened resin.
Her bare thighs
adorned with an unbearable scent.
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