Broad faces consider cyanide alleys
near an empty lot outside Pisco as Apostles
unswathe Jesus the day before Easter;
everyone wants to be Frank Black,
drinking wind that tastes of gasoline.
In Esperanza, Davis mixes a Manhattan, washes
paper drops off the rim of a margarita glass;
a crow's wing stained with mascara brushes
pale blue ash on the sill, sends quiet hymns
into the cafe. Staved for something green
his breath traces her shape in the mirror.