They trashed
the place. Cages of

english to replace
the aftermath. A desire to

enclose, to presume
discovery and causal

chains. How far are we
from ‘home’? We stay up

with all the lights on.
And once more see

no stars, saw palms shielding.
You say, “what we’re hiding

from is what we hide.”
In the wreck

of dream, in a wreath of red
sea, will the petals

of our breath land on
any bough? So foreign and

at once ours as to be
the ‘vanishing point.’ “Row

forever away,” you say.
Let this be the transit.

CRAIG SANTOS PEREZ is a co-founder of Achiote Press and author of from unincorporated territory [hacha] (Tinfish Press, 2008). His poetry, essays, reviews, and translations have appeared in New American Writing, Pleiades, The Denver Quarterly, The Colorado Review, and ZYZZYVA, among others.