Patina
my shrine is white
charcoal white
parochial, cyclical, and burnt Rome
neon pink, deep-sky blue
bougainvillea flowers unearthed
my shrine fits best
in the breast pocket
of your dad’s old coat
where all you know
of manhood is the mystic
distance of your father, the stoic alchemist,
that curandero who kept his secrets to himself
//
my shrine has two skulls
dusty little skulls
watch them close
since last time
they were caught
licking each other’s sockets
in the linty womb
of the coat’s breast pocket