For Luis

I can see what never was
        (nor will ever be)
all we could have had
        (we could have had it all)

the sandy-haired kids with mud-caked jeans
hiding among the plantain fields
bare feet slipping on the Toro Negro river stones
lulled to sleep by the coquí

far away from my city lights
you could have given me
morning mist clinging to the mountainside

but there is no quaint rustic lifestyle
for us

those thousands of miles between us
insignificant,
they dissolve into nothing

with every phone call
we dodge bullets
both thinking it
neither speaking it
always on the tips of our tongues
but we bite down on them
        (we bite hard)

You’re hoping I’m miserable
I’m wishing you weren’t happy