From “Birthday Letters” (I)

We were unsure at first, our eyes darting
sugar birds as humans draw near,
but you were laughing like hell at your own jokes—
like the one about the man at the movies
who watched the MGM Lion roar
and wondered,  But wait, Garçon,
I’ve seen this somewhere before!
Lurched forward, falling-falling
pell-mell, whole body turned toward me,
you were leonine and slightly terrifying,
little mutiny of mouth.
I’ve seen this somewhere before,
floating, engraved in the sky
of my mind, conquering lion encircled
by gold chain, mouth-awake,
Fata Morgana, Satta Massagana!
And above, the motto  Ars Gratia Artis,
heart for heart sake, gold ribbon
of celluloid film held up by no angels,
and below, Thalia’s mask of comedy
like a lucha libre máscara,
no nation but cachinnation.
I cup my right hand into an  O,
brown eye I lift to my eye
and start rolling:
 
laughing is falling, we were falling-falling
into the Soufrière sky and suddenly your laughter
was the room in which we now sank,
everything overturned by the bacchanal,
the salt-shaker, a glass of water and yes,
without realizing it, we laughed.