Repetition Nineteen. Mónica de la Torre

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      Behind a gliding glass door, a wall made of blocks of ash

      demarcates a small tangible patio.

      A window-shaped opportunity frames a shrub

      with many subsidiaries growing on the slope.

      Or intends to incriminate, if we can attribute intentionality to a hole.

      The shrub, like all living things, surpasses the border’s edges.

      A couple of grimy authorities outside, of a shadow

      of sadness suspended amid deep sky blue and azure.

      Before one another and hollow, their character mirrors

      the plastic in a dissolute dustpan and broom at the outer edge,

      tilting toward the dirt, as if to raid it.

      The debt-free agents distress the authorities.

      Three ghosts behind the vanished hue:

      non-naturalized, methane-derived, once associated with ether.

      Four continuous, finite channels, all announcing nothing:

      a screech, a hammering, a mermaid, a ring.

      Wrecking five. The superior nerves of the patio’s walls and an angu-

      lar adjacent roof jut against the landscape to bring geometry into an

      invasive focus. The structure knows what to do there.