To the west is a flying fish goddess,
a palm frond dying Jesus crucifix
a tin painting of Mary and Son
a backwards flowing om
A painted Guadalupe
And small photographs of our children
To the east are a pile of notebooks
A jar of pens, three knives
And a black magazine of pistol ammunition
Electronic things on wires
A flashlight no bigger than your little finger
And a print of a Geisha with sticks in her hair.
The miracle is
Hers is the west,
Mine is the east,
We are still becoming one
After all these years.
The Ace Hotel Notebook 