The great poet was expelled from Florence.
Miguel expelled himself from himself to make room for me.
I melted into his being like an enormous orange sun into dark, desert sands.
Neither of us saw the eight bad omens of the conquest.
Our bodies were flaming mightily in the Aztec sky.
That inky night the fire of our flesh destroyed the temple of Huitzilopochtli.
What have we done?
Excerpt from the manuscript “Glass Lovers” (draft)