I had Spanish grapes for breakfast
and for lunch a map of Barcelona.
My hurricane belly attracts butterflies
from near and afar
(from across the ocean?).
One landed on my sweater
searching for nectar,
I gave it all of my love
for it resembled you.

High above, a jet plane
heading southeast
drew a line straight across the sky -
a path to another continent
over the big blue sky
and it resembled you
for the moon was out:
la lluna - this perfect sphere,
this container of dreams,
this gatekeeper to the universe.

The distant rumble folded
below the horizon -
the white trail slowly fading
and in my belly
a single thought remained:
America?