This morning, I miss most of all you, Martín.
And her who, when you were born, looked and blessed your people.
Lucy, when you are with me, I feel the atoms
racing everywhere in this old oak table,
in the eight-pointed, double-star spider,
and in the starry rippling all around us.
Skeleton woman.
Guardian.
Death woman.
Lucy.
Here, a picnic, cornbread.
Here, an orange with Martín and me at the lip of the Earth
Surface World.
[APPLAUSE]