Oranges don't grow in the sea;
there is no love in Seville.
Brunette, what a light of fire.
Lend me your umbrella.

I wear my green jealousy
like lemon and lime juice,
and your words,
your sinful little words,
they will swim around.

Oranges don't grow in the sea,
oh love!
There is no love in Seville.


Adelina de Paseo

La mar no tiene naranjas.
ni Sevilla tiene amor.
Morena, qué luz de fuego.
Préstame tu quitasol.

Me pondrá la cara verde,
zumo de lima y limón,
tus palabras, pececillos,
nadarán alrededor.

La mar no tiene naranjas.
Ay, amor.
Ni Sevilla tiene amor!

The cat makes her bed
as constitutions of sleep
overcome her.
The day peels back
in pieces like an orange
revealing the sweet
flesh of sleep.
In the weave of day,
the cat finds a bed
in an old leather chair,
triples of sleep.

Lay a shadow on me -
we sleep overlapped
with the night-bells,
the thieves in the pines,
the crescent wine,
mothers-of-pearl.

Lay a shadow on me -
your sun's waist
rises while my dreams
are still marching
across my forehead.

I say your name
over and over,
spiced petals
of a sea rose.

The moon has already plunged
into the alley by my window,
& the stars are scraping away
with milky fingers.

It's a night for names.
I find them on green walls,
in cups of green wine,
across greenish clouds.

I say your name
over and over,
like collecting sea roses
with both hands.

The lowest pine branch
bows its head just above  
where we buried our names
on that day in May.

The air was sweet
with anise, and the wind
through the pine boughs
sounded like the sea.

I want to dig up our names,
I want to push aside
the needled thigh of pine
& bite ***** into mulch.

I want to remember
that day in May
when we buried our histories
in a drum of gelato.

The stars all come out at once,
like whipping a sheet off a bed.

A crowd of silver
floats in the moon's broth,

& approaching apples of light
break away from the black hoof,

the flooding vein,
ten thousand irises.

I was thinking of you,
watching green oxide stone
resist the rain
on a broken Sunday
when the groins of trees
trembled in the breeze,
& the sky lacked
all confidence,
five days until
the metal snout
carried me off,
away from a dawn yard
of bread brick, and
towards the one-wing bridge
& your greenest wave.