for eb Camera slung at the shoulder and a ledger of bikes that lean, yours is a chronicle of agave. Spines holding water. I would recognize you in the dark. The white spines of diaries, evenly matched on your shelves. Your whole heart beats her wings. You are witness. You are prayer. Your home is your ribcage. Is a garden of surprises where morning glories mix with your black Spanish hair. Through the grass comes the sound of your laughter. You spill before saints and apostles. We stand ready to listen.