Adobo Criollo Sergio Antonio Ortiz Rivera

Winter Death lies  face to face with my sadness waits for spring picks up the pieces of my joy and grief.  

Magic Oh magic, centrifugal current of intrinsically abounding headsprings. Water is liquid quartz, rock that is already flowing, shadow of the eternal minute immobile its fleeting.

Haiku vísteme de auroras que llego tarde a su piel

El Sur I envision a country without observers and spies or frightening police robbing children I envision a city with ocean wings and drunken salt southern cities new appearances in search of their antiquity

Aproximación Esta quietud que mora en la  imaginación  calma mi marginalidad, la viste de mujer para aproximarse al lago y cantarle boleros a los astros.

One More Shade of Gray There is a way lonely people twitch when they find out their friend has died.  I should know, he was a friend and I just can’t stop from crying. One more shade of gray to keep me blue.

Eros I Without stopping to calm your convulsions I take advantage of you spilled on my thighs and embrace II I undo your dream provide the answers but do not form you you break me open III I barely listen to your speech you have so many voices do not I know which one you are I look into your eyes and I raise my legs

Erótico I No me detengo a calmar tu temblor aprovecho que te has derramado entre mis muslos suspiras y me abrazas II Deshago tus sueños te digo las respuestas pero no te formo y me rompes III Apenas te escucho no sé quién eres son tantas tus voces miro a tus ojos y levanto las piernas

False Pride:  Tango Dancer You are the seductive arch of a bay without roots, a drop descending on the half-light, sustenance of magic footsteps at the moment of the suicide.  You dance with the white and silent breeze of AIDS where tango dancers take their stilettos for a stroll— broken-in Italian shoes— then burn their tongues nailed to a false pride.  I spit you, not once or twice but three times. You’re female and male neutered to frighten the children at local holidays, a simple invitation to dust .   

Tangueras Eres el seductor arco de una bahía sin raíces, la gota descendiendo   sobre la penumbra, sustento de mágicas pisadas a la hora del suicidio. Bailas con el blanco de la brisa silenciosa del SIDA donde todas las tangueras sacan a pasear sus zapatos italianos rotos y luego incineran sus leguas clavadas en el falso orgullo. Te escupo, una, dos, tres, veces. Eres hembra y macho castrado para asustar los niños en las fiestas patronales, una simple invitación al polvo .

Deseando un Santuario esto quiere ser una cascada de colibríes que cubren nuestros cuerpos con los números de las páginas de mi libro ii entre tu tiempo y el mío dejo ilusión tu dejas soledad y volvemos a nuestros nombres iii a veces yo te leo en otros crepúsculos a media luz tu voz es diferente abres las alas y no te pareces a ti mismo pero se que eres tu  

for want of sanctuary this wants to be a waterfall of hummingbirds covering our bodies with numbers from the pages of my book ii. between your time and mine I leave hope you leave loneliness as we return to our names iii. sometimes I read you in other shadows in the twilight your voice is different you open your wings and somehow  I recognize you

I want to be phenomenal honey pouring out of me, no lies affecting who I’ve been. But you’ve shot me with your words, cut me with your eyes, killed me with your hatefulness. Men hurt down my juiced legs, their presence lingers on my fighting hands. Yet I am bold and have no scent of fear.  Too high a price… Love set me free!

Dolphins and Moons The sword of perfection is unworthy of mention in my lovers presence unless it be drawn with regret. Bones wear out with age, fire can be easily extinguished, but simplicity is better chained to hearts, like dolphins swimming around the aura of a lunar eclipse, a pendant. When my lover touches my hair I shatter into dancing moons.

Treat us  to your nightmares, become our guru.

The key you have not lost is there between those spaces, not by or in, but flanked between here and there, living like a fugitive on your skin. It is a prelude to our memoirs, the text of a poem fused with nectarines, an exploration through Copper Canyon, visions of Haiti’s angels licking my ears, a hypnotic dance on sands matching the colors that mesh upon your hips, an experiment we refuse to put down, an invitation to cross the doorway of the home I no longer occupy. The key you have not lost is not the manual for a digital camera, or calendar entries for next month’s readings. It is not the Popular Mechanics article you wrote to put food on our table, or a classified add on craigslist. It wants to be the bungee jump into the pangs of a deer in heat, the obituary of bolted doorknobs, or a listing for all the vacant walls on which we'll scribble our love graffiti.

Gypsy Night, the beginning of day, life parting on vagabond raindrops and rented sound effects. Gratitude was once a cherry blossom gypsy robbed of her effervescence, lighter than roaming planets with her moon weeping, rumbling on happier shores.

The Alembic Soft hair and humidity trickled from his torso to his belly button as I moistened my lips. When the fruit ripened, he placed it in containers planked with scented Spanish Oak and covered with moss; export that would later be distilled. But to me Jerez was not what gave him the fragrance of Montilla, it only forced me to savor the memory of his abdomen.

Shattered  Long were the days of sorrow  when maps were studied and places chosen, gifts bought: Tin soldiers and Rajasthani puppets.  Gone  are the days When I believed in blood.