Erika Moya

Draw an earthquake
with a ballpoint pen --

it doesn't feel
like destruction.

Once you loose your heat
it's gone
the ruin effortless

Hold in and back
like you've been struck,

swept up in the awe
of an entire life.

In the story
there are two daughters

and no father. How
the mouth’s tongue

searches for a space
Remind me

how we won't change
only the weather

How the man on the train
read Plato, wanted you

with his eyes. Think of
his children: the wiry

teen, the soft three year old.

It's not really
a demand,
so much as a fortune

the fall so long
it's not