i haven't stopped moving for six days.
while i sleep, nautical miles pass by,
deep sea sleep moves over my eyelids
and when i wake, i am somewhere. nowhere
i have been before. on land, we shuffle along.
numbers, hometowns, occupations define us,
not names. i have no name that translates:
catalina del norte. cattle call and we move again,
take in the sights (zapata slept here.) dogs lick them-
selves under small palms with bits of plastic
blown in their hair. eaten from the inside out,
their hearts chewed apart, not like mine,
not figuratively. moving again, rock-a-bye
baby sleep with me. sleep and i will hold
your hesitant half-smile in the palms
of my hands.
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