… you came considerate,
without monarchy over my ships,

no graves created or doleful souls 
imploring for rest unto eternity

under the name of the Sun-God.
I played on deck joyfully

with my doll, Pinpón, that little boy
in the songs my Mamí sang,

swept in the lull of your cadence
shifting with your insistence,

your refusals, your denials,
your rests.  There was a morning

crowned in absence, no pain,
no willfulness, no regrets!

Washhh, silence rushing 
this warm clear foam leapt

on deck, 
and a figure of Socrates—

I knew the whole Brittanica 
because I knew so little.

Wrapped in lights for his care,
our infant in his bouncing chair,

ocean eyed and pink like jewels
in the radiant blue brights.  

Pinpón, latter day, and I had never
guessed my Mamí thought the same

of me.  Pinpón, the Prince 
of the home, the pulse beat 

of the morning, 
noons, and nights. 

He was in my arms today crying
to be so confused.  I choked

forgetting to ask 
if that was the trouble.

Pinpón rolled over into my middle,
curled, and fused to me like 

wire to an electrical contact.
I said I know.  Now.

I pray I’ll know the song someday.