when winter comes
adjust your voice to it when the clock
dies hide it from the children
do not resist the urge to travel
it will be only a journey
and there is no arrival
drive through the desert
quickly it is inhabited by those
in search of death
you have as many minutes
as the rain has eyes
beside a gabardine sea you will find
the white hotel where bougainvillaea
drips from the roof like blood
dim lights will be on in the hallway
a long moss carpet
flowing past a wilderness of doors
stairs crowded with unpredictable
lovers and assassins
in the bar new arrivals
celebrate reunions by throwing
their glasses into the fireplace
others just drop them on the floor
when anything falls down
in this hotel it lies there forever
all night they will sing
old songs when the shoe tree
blooms in the desert and the ice plant
melts by the sea all night
the water will rest
quietly in its blue tomb
at dawn when palm trees
wave their arms as they do at the slightest
change in plans you will watch
the waves send up
fine contingents of water
each retreating without losing its courage
thousands of white truces
negotiated on the sand
and with your pulse beating for distance
your hair turning to salt
you will say because of its great
depth the sea can forgive anything
but do not linger
at the white hotel or soon you will learn
that memory is the only
kind of loss we ever know
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