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Let us speak of love
Openly in the streets where myth
Vanquishes hard truth, and stories course
Eternally like tendrils of a vine.
I’ll learn again to disregard no dream
Naturally, to avoid reality’s cold hosts.

The gossips crow today of hosts—
How faithful, how devout to godly love,
Excepting fellow man; but in your dream
They flourish, flawed, woven through the myth
In which the hummingbird protects the vine.
Macondo breathes, and soldiers know, of course,

Enemies in politics and sex direct the course
Of every man, while fever born of tropics hosts
Fierce calumnies that twist what is divine.
Ghosts, they coincide us, fleshed by love
And fecund women who secrete pure myth
Between their limbs to fuel the shaman’s dream.

Oh, I’ve no quarrel with the torpid dream;
Grist shines in every form, each course
And rivulet propels Creation’s myth.
But let us tolerate no disappointed hosts
Riven by the tales they tell of wearied love.
Instead, let’s propogate a strong new vine!

Ecstatic, we are labourers of fruit and vine
Laid back in hammocks where the dream
Gathers sinew from the sins of love
And funerals like weddings run their course,
Respiring through the sleepy childhood hosts
Colombia revived in you. This myth

Is universal, plumb. Adopted myth
And native-born, we all grow from the vine
Mysterious and drop our seed where hosts
Act fast to stimulate the better-tasting dream,
Remembering that preference guides our course
Quite ably when we speak perforce of love.

Upending myth, you show me where the dream
Excises from the vine, fermenting new realities whose course,
Zero tolerant of rudeness, hosts exuberant varieties of love.


An acrostic sestina contains a hidden vertical message, which I’ve made easier to read by capitalizing the first letter of every line. Readers and adorers of Gabriel Garcia Marquez (1927-2014) will understand the wordplay.

© Elaine Stirling, 2014