Above Guayaquil

At the end of the banquet hall

polished reeds hold black wings

slicing across thermals wheeling arcs drawn

by condors high above the Andes

holding the angustia of the señoroa

trapped in her funereal wrappings

catching the wind billowing upward outward

until she sails alongside their shining wings

buoyed by updrafts the flute’s wailing

filling her mantilla until she drifts apart

to write her agony across the sky.