the sky is falling

the sky is falling

burning and tumbling,

tangling the shrouds of schooners

and streaming ragged suns

whistling up from the deep

they sang phosphorescence on our retinas

hollowed green booms

glancing off bowed horizons

to kiss the spangled rooftops

the sky is falling and

the stars skitter beneath a thousand dancing feet

their hearts are made of

paper, tinsel, glass, metal

what are they singing?

before the fall

the fishermen moored their ships

and cast their gilded nets over hills

to pull the darkness down

first there was hungry blue stillness

and the harbor was a pail of milk

while Valparaiso held her breath

for the sky to open

loca

loca

loca

te volviste

twelve strokes and the steel-roofed houses

are strung up on telephone wires

marionettes dangling from wrists of smoke

shouts scurry up their walls

and the streets inflate as

the lonely accordeon gasps for air

the statues have stepped down from their pedestals

they lope about the plaza

through crawling men and walking dogs

and from his post in an alley near Anibal Pinto

Salvador Allende

waggles an approving toe on the stair

loca

loca

loca

te volviste

love, army, revolución, mob

there is a chorus

ten thousand strong

stacatto fists

balled or clasped or slung over shoulders

pounding the day into being

the morning moon curtsies before the dawn

he is a shard of bone

red women in lais hoist him up on flagpoles

the cords are cut

the streets fall flat

the statues congelan

and houses shiver into file

but on a stair by el cementerio

a few stars remain

apricot embers

winking under blood-stained toes.