I respond to many names.
Sometimes I am different people.
Sometimes I am the me that howls in
the night.
Sometimes I am the sickening silence.
I wear moonlight in my hair and bare
my teeth.

I try to feel my own edges in the
low light. I send my mind to the
outer edges of me — where do I end?
I send myself to my innermost edges,
and I see that in both directions 
I am infinite.

There's something about her.
It's not her smile or grace,
It's not her beauty or race,
It's not her scent or warm embrace,
Maybe it's her laugh or the shape of her face.
No, that's not the case.
It's just her.

Emotional pain was the price I paid on the path to becoming a woman. So excuse me if I’m not clueless like a little girl.

We arrived and the miracle happened.
It was the sea and the wind in the bells.
We came from far, from years
Thirsty as dust, from humble
fishermen’s nets on barren shore."
~ José Manuel Cardona, from Poems to Circe, The Birnam Wood (El Bosque de Birnam, Consell Insular D'Eivissa, 2007).
Translated from the Spanish by Helene Cardona.

In fact she herself once blamed me
Kyprogeneia

because I prayed
this word:
I want.