blind fortune from a woman on the streets of Santiago

by tobias crabtree

it don’t happen all the time, of course,

if it did, things would be different.

some old, dark gravity, with wild feet

will find me in the night.

who’s been digging in my ashes, man?

i have no fuel for dying embers.

leave ’em lie

i can’t tend them.

just outside the library

where the gypsies dance

in the exhaust

of Santiago,

some old voodoo woman

with clouds inside her eyes

and her bag of stones and bones

and her missing teeth,

wagged her finger

when i asked about love,

and laughing without seeing

waved me on.

and here, in the dark

i think of another time

and the candle that was burning

in the window of your house.