Invitation to Dust

Invitation to Dust

Am I poet or sheet of paper, my soul asks in the cruel infinite

/night of the sea that is never serene…

Manuel Ramos Otero, Invitación al Polvo

You, Manuel, the seductive arch

of a bay, a drop descending

on the half-light, feet circling

my suicide hour.

We were tangueros* of the same tile, tropical

byway, creek mist, and love's insomnia.

Dancers with the white

silent breeze of despair.

*Boleristas take their stilettos

for a stroll while you burn your tongue,

nail it to your pride.

I spit on you, all you neutered men

and women frightening children

playing in schoolyards.

You’re nothing but

a simple invitation to dust.