With permission from the publisher WILDCARD A light-hearted lullaby this, not much happens that doesn’t already happen somewhere else:  a garnet-red baby opens wide its tiny jungle mouth. Familiar to all who read them, lullabies are  about kisses, jealousies and parents / keepers. Raging in the pillow, rising like a statue made of ash.  A parent is a house.…

This mouth grows in it a forestborn from the spitof the godsof my land;chews a wildfirethat blackens the stumps of my teeth;hums the serenadeof our greatest hunters. This mouth can utter to lifethe many names of our ancestorsthe conquerors could neverwrap their tongues around,the ones they spat with regretas their teeth disintegrated,choking on the sharpinflections of the…

  My days come and go, their almost motionless river is swept with traces, am I in the river’s current or on the edge? I see the shores of Lethe. The river repeats itself unchangingly, on and on, endlessly until we heave ourselves, the river and me, out.                   The garden is This Garden. This garden is…