From Samsara at Quantum Zeno

Émigré 
 
On the elegant field
 
A string of mustangs
 
Explode as they appear
 
Discolor the atmosphere
 
In Kinhin, left hand
 
Orbits solar plexus
 
Shining gem empties to sepia
 
We wander alien plains
 
Firm abdomen, straight neck
 
We circuit the earth
 
Our Spanish doesn’t match
 
Your opulent rolling pronunciations
 
One leg surrenders while another awaits
 
And I do not
 
I do not blossom