A woman stops me,
four a.m. in her eyes.
My shirt, she sees,
is Argentine.

Just past noon,
we are beside a
building, divided
by night and day.

Her arm breaks
the horizon, grabs
my sleeve, trembles
like a flower
at daybreak.


Date created 01 Oct 2007
Date modified 01 Oct 2007
Journal Phoenix Literary Arts Magazine (Dec 2007)