Notes From Buenos Aires

Phrases float above my head like notes above a musician’s

What I recall is this:

Unreachable banks of the Río de la Plata—

An invisible, seeking serpent;

Wide avenues counting down from twenty,

The Obelisco peeking behind jacaranda trees;

Nacreous stones woven in black twine,

Petals, the colour of unrequited love, tumbling to the pavement;

Sizzling parrillas,

Smelling of salt and death;

That spectacular moon, crescent and cold,

Swinging upside down in the southerly breeze;

The siren song of the bandoneon,

Rooting untamed hearts to the ground;

Men’s stubble and old perfume,

Heavy hands, light feet—promising me the time that they don’t have;

Pooling echoes of my heels

Upon the empty streets of Palermo—

As if it is only me left alive.