Enchantments of Isis, the green parrots
light on the bougainvillea and the scarecrow
with a straw hat. I want you to be the first
to know how many lovesongs of fresh water
I have sung to the Beloved, who falls
off the cliff without looking back for his dog.
A red flower in brunette hair, the color
of fresh blood, a carnation, not a poppy.
Today’s date is neither here nor there.
It is now and then important
to the tea kettle and watering can.
The color wheel the parrot flies toward,
dawn in the desert, orange glow
and cobalt clouds of walking rain.
You don’t know how far
Isis went to look for the Beloved,
how much she found in the columns.
At the Sunset Grocery, my friend Gene
sings lovesongs in English and Spanish.
The jackrabbits run away and away.
The geranium thinks of the bee,
and the hummingbird dives for the ocotillo,
buzzes around the red-tailed hawk
who sits on the cliff from which the Beloved
fell, from his roost of red stones.
And Isis plants tomatoes
in the skull of the Beloved
where he sits in Hades as the Judge
but without his cock because a fish
swallowed it, and the sea would not
give it back again. The poppies
spring up in spring, and you will
be the first to know all the love songs
at the Sunset Grocery Temple of Isis.