after Brouwer’s “La Huida de los Amantes por el Valle de los Ecos” for classical guitar

To turn back at the hill, or wall—
all dogs will come home.
all sons arrive, their pockets torn.

A mirror: Narcissus drinks
blue ink from the stream
and cannot leave.  I love you

I love you since to imitate
is a pattern learned, call for
yes again: a voice is made

by doubling. Lungs lift
against the chord
box, stir its twins of fold.

Antigoni Goni’s hands
butterfly across the fretboard,
neck where strings pull

like latitude through dark.
In her song, the lovers flee—
horses’ hooves accelerate

down to the valley—and before
they are caught, they call out.