“and even you forgot those brilliant flashes seen from afar” -Ruth Stone

Stephanie Adams-Santos

Beneath you
the amethyst caves vibrate and groan,
the earth’s emptiness.

Mushrooms of pleasure
molt into dark cupolas.

Now a shade falls over you,
a chittering, the talk of infinitesimal spirits
too slight for understanding.

You open yourself
your mouth your eyes your forehead
with a sharp stone carried from childhood.



The owl
fastened like the moon against the night,
is pale, intent on your sorrow.

A vine climbs the darkness up
where blooms invert, huecos florecidos…

Before you disappear, a disfiguring music
comes in the form of a hummingbird
who mistakes your eye for a flower.

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Stephanie Adams-Santos is a Guatemalan-American writer whose work spans poetry, prose, screenwriting, and other swampy, hybrid forms. Read more