by Adriane Seville 

I carry your song through the day.
The song of your body –
a little coyote made of sand
panting with a tongue of pale rubies.

I sing a song that wears your face
each note is filled with howling
and nocturnal flowers. For the moon
each note blooms pink as your lips bloom.

When night lays itself across the desert,
only then do I lay your song down
deep inside of myself and you

take up each note in your own voice
sing of my longing which brings you near to me
as a dream. A coyote of sand. A tongue of pale ruby.

A resident of Austin, Texas, Adriane Seville was born and raised in Mexico City and is heavily influenced by Latin-American poets. With an MFA from Portland State University, Adriane is currently working on a series of 99 modern sonnets. You can read more of Adriane’s work in Sleet, Shampoo, The Tidal Basin Review, and The Broken Plate.