LANE, Patrick


Stars

Those lights in the sky.

Little butterflies of the night,

little dreamers. Each time my lover

rises to walk in the early garden

I watch her from the window.

I cannot take my eyes from her.

See how she leans inside the dawn,

the cherry blossoms on her shoulders

as she touches the cat

who follows her everywhere, wanting

only to be with her

among the dark mosses.

How much light there is

in the high window of the night.

How I wait, knowing, for now

she comes to me,

her small feet wet with dew,

white as stars

in these last hours.

The Children Of Bogotá

The first thing to understand, Manuel says,

Is that they’re not children. Don’t start feeling

Sorry for them. There are five thousand

Roaming the streets of this city

And just because they look innocent

Doesn’t make them human. Any one

Would kill you for the price of a meal.

Children? See those two in the gutter

Behind that stall? I saw them put out

The eyes of a dog with thorns because

It barked at them. Tomorrow it could be you.

No one knows where they come from

But you can be sure they’re not going.

In five years they’ll be men and tired of killing

Dogs. And when that happens you’ll be the first

To cheer when the carabineros shoot them down.