Tegucigalpan days when we wanted to play and were made to stay inside—
 
Candil de la calle, oscuridad en la casa
 
Where the shadows singe the light, the light is the place of traces;
 
the things you’d say, Dad, if you caught us longingly looking.

A ray like a thief in through the window and on to

our sudden self in the presence of others in small places.
 
Over your shoulders and the neighbors’ rooftops shining out to meet the far off mountain peaks—
 
Candil de la calle, oscuridad en la casa
 
Go out and kick the ball by the light of the streetlamp and the ground-down, put-back-together and holy round moon too—
 
and then there it is, there it is, look it, Daddy!
 
Our sudden self in the presence of others in small places.
            
—a vat in the sun; a house in the sun; a sun in a can stilled and ringing—