cartagena

is a blur of joy. I feel for my collarbone only twice.

I am adored here. I ask:

am I one of you?

will I be okay?

we buy single menthols, a baguette

we dance across old town in technicolor

the night cradles us and the ocean roars:

I saw the whole thing

seventeen years,

I could not wait for your return.

-----------

denver art museum, a series