21/10/07: Mexico City
I am not good at judging distances,
the time it takes to cross the city.
Gathering questions in a foreign tongue,
understanding nothing but cemented into
this living, a priest to his congregation.
Sometimes through fire, in alphabetic order
or perched beneath a tabernacle,
coloured glass a mountain high.
Stone flecked with earth. We cross
and re-cross the broken cobbles,
negotiating touch about this
rough city of clues.