April 29 Watsonville, CA

I remember feeling a cigarette burning 
a hole in my arm after too many beers
or not enough whiskey.

Tried to shut down Magdalena, called her God’s 
own orphan and swore to keep her secrets.
I blame my failure on the sky, there’s so much of it;

too much to swallow. Too many ways to escape 
but no way to stay, and I can’t run fast enough 
to even earn a quiet look at heaven.

I can almost hear the crow of a rooster, the slow 
cock of a gun. There is no love without breaking, 
the trick is to break together.