Hoa Nguyen


What your dark eyes take back
to itself, hugged in a curve
of toughness.  The land between us is flat.
Let's say we are ruined, Minneapolis,
bricked against ourselves.  A red rag 
in the kitchen.  This isnšt important or I am.

I never wanted to touch you
and still do.  How can we pray or find
what collects in heaven, Father.
I'd be surprised by elegance,
meaning something like rugs
and leather.  Soft and tough.  This.

I want belief like this.  Leaving
the sea is a rag doll I once was.  Texas
clouds in dreams, swinging.  My loving you
once, mud puddle, swing set.