We take our favorite spot below the mirror
and waning half moon, cold Araucan bowl
holding a sphere of sunlight for the scholar
and insomniac. Earlier in our stroll
from Calle de Maipú to our café,
we hear the nightly bombs. ‘We were an hon-
orable city of humble people, and they
survived on courage. All that is gone
with leaders who’ve gone mad. I’m sad and yet
I still believe in the nation precisely
because it is a chaos.’ When we sat
the waiter brought us our hot chocolate
and toast. ‘You love Milton, don’t you? Well he
too had the gift of blindness and liked to chat.’