you can see us in Goya where
cannibal Time eats his children
hooded sisters pointing
to the door, bodies swallowed
by earth as if by probing black
in earnest, he would find
courage to move the brush
Rothko called them performers
Lorca waited on a ghost
to let it harness him by words
& when nowhere stood still we
gathered in twos and threes
hoping to hear the heart
of one living beat hard time
into heat where a mind’s
nerve breaks
a call or cry we wanted
to respond & drummed
an ache the tenderness
of those faces spectacular
& then it was late
all eyelids and moons
o death how
you insinuate