Sept 21

for Mexico City after earthquake, 1985 It's almost total dark tonight, before a moon in our Green Valley. No buildings collapsed. I'm just walking my dog— and I'm back there. Storefront spilling shattered glass can't glitter in so little light. Streetlamps out. Department store. I aim a flash-beam—human figure sprawled inside the door. How can my dog just step over it, and move on? But it's only a mannequin, high-heels scattered among beads. We’re searching for a survivor among so many dead. 26 years later, I'm still trying to fix the image, to find words. Crawl out of the ruins with someone alive.