Sending cards to cdmx
it may be spring when

they finally arrive
if they make it at all

this is not an act of faith—
when was it we were last there?

the sun rising over the tarmac
ripe as papaya

that long airport hall
full of money changers

mostly empty at that hour
how did we get to Erica’s?

how did we get anywhere?
the physics of memory

is the same as in dreams
we met Alfredo in some

sleek Reforma lobby
my Spanish was poor

then somehow Coyoacán
eating chiles en nogada

it was November
everything was an arrival

time behaving differently
perhaps the altitude

floating through a city
at once here and years ago