1. Raven and the Birth of Tango

i.
Raven hates myth, unless he gets a piece of the action.
He's perfected the shrug, carries a knife,
kicks ass when he needs to. When Raven shaves night,
he leaves shadow. A trick he learned by dancing.

ii.
Bored, Raven headed south, Buenos Aires.
Wandered the markets, the mixed-blood arrabales
the brothels. Cocked his head, sniffed.
Smelled meat on the edge of spoiling,
the bandoneonists drinking red wine, making love to their instruments.
He watched the card games, the emigrants and compadritos
drifting in from the country, their drinking, feuds, knives.
Raven thought about wounds and longings.
He listened to the ocean weight of darkness
sifting centuries of largo and eros,
listened to dogs barking in the night.

iii.
Raven blew a smoke ring around the moon,
watched dancers riffing Africa
off the music of the arrabales,
and when he was ready
                                          Raven caught the tip
of the dance in his beak, tugged
                                                      and slowly
                                                                        slowly

                                          Raven pulled out Tango

He twined the dark blue current of sex around
the man's arm winding like a snake
around his partner's waist—and just like that
Raven caught the dancers
about to break
                              free
              break
                              in two


2. The Marriage Tango

The old couple is dancing. Solemn,
worn confederates of the tango. Their bodies are thick with age,
their feet callused yet quick.
This is an old story, like water, like flying.
Still, each time they dance it, something new.

The young lovers set out in a raft
at the edge of the ocean, reckless,
rehearsing their new names like children
writing in the night air with burning sticks
            Husband            Wife
They don't yet know neither the ocean nor the sky
cares about love or secrets or fidelity.

How they are bold with each other.
How like a kite she agrees to be led.
How he learns not to be afraid of her.
How the magnet of desire pulls in and at them.
How dangerous they become for each other.
How close they sail to the edge of the flat world,
how they long for the flying plunge.
How they learn to read each other's weather.
How they bear children, work and weep and laugh.
How they count the casualties.
How they make love: I do   I do   I do
How they sleep each night for decades spooned around each other,
wake to tell their dreams.
How they carry on.
How they haunt each other.
How strange to find themselves old and still dancing
quick and slow under the crooked smile of the moon.
How they sail closer and closer to death.
How, somehow, their raft becomes an ark,
Raven their dark dove.

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⁰ 2nd Prize, Poem of the Year Contest 2003
Arc 51, Winter 2003