Unaccounted For

You: there—: everything behind us swings back-
ward, and everything before 
 
opens outward. What a wonderful sunny ward 
you populate: within it, the earth-chocolate 
 
breath of the fuchsia-pistulated Oncidium—
and the slivery aphrodisiac-
 
al pods of Vanillin: all, now missing. How
can I thank you?—I have found nothing
 
as confounding 
to their carefully constructed 
 
plot—
as you!: You—
 
won’t disappear:
what is that?: pouf: that’s how it goes.
 
Did no one teach you that? Here,
let me try. I am the mother of
 
the disappeared: los desaperecidos. Just look for me
around any corner. My arms—open.