Gina

Your eyes dance like fireflies, you are no one's fool, they cascade like satyrs, beating a tune, on Sundays you’re cool, won’t hurt you the blues, sunlight burns the tyres, you’re twenty eight and true, can’t stand deniers, this side of the moon, there’s nothing to rue, no one’s out to get you, neither poor nor righteous, preachers or crooks, love’s such a dynamite, your ship sails on fire, it’s the way you cook, your family's desire, to find some fresh virtue.

Elena

Your blown kisses, reach my maritime coast, a light from Cape Mission, across the weather zones, they dance on water, turn it blue with love, nothing like their lilt, so light they float, across our continental drift, they help us know, what stands foremost, and what is only loaned, on a wind lashed cliff, looking down at fishing boats, I touch your lips, sometimes the most cynical, hug their bones, even those most critical give thanks to God

Dolly

Waiting for the train, an ordinary day, late, sometimes it’s hard to pray, the Loco is shining steel, gone half past eight, does anyone care how she feels, she makes the glass dilate, a cool yet burning rage, the carriage window the same, who writes the deeds, to make everything great, make somethings seem real, she’ll take the blame, . there is still a heartbeat, from yesterday’s shame, she's going to leave, her face shows the strain, she’ll give no signal, there is no need.

Beatty

She pinned a shamrock on us, as if books were our passport, the ones from the Orphanage, like a schooner puts on sail, puffed her cheeks an instant, dreamed for all our tales, made us Inquisitive, when winds froze our compass, furious declarations at Christmas, at the parties on Atlantic parade, Brooklyn holds a steamy closeness, jellies, anniversaries, men in shades, she died reading the Cantos, listening to Paul Simon, her shiny page folded Catechus, Homeward Bound quoting our names, we revered her just glory, our dollars and fancy trades, each bridge an open door.

Chrissy Jones

Alone at the bus station, you ask for a smoke, is that you that patient, you the prodigal daughter, now in a white coat, once so full of laughter, we thought you’d made it, you always went for broke, said the love we trade, is all that matters, even if your kingdom’s spoken, your clothes tattered, you gave us all away, in the manner of your jokes, even drunk on the pavement, your dark glasses won’t shatter, tell them that your hosts, your soul is the river, a red letter fragrance, you’re as beautiful to know, still just as elegant, you’ll ride this blow.

Adriana

Teresa d'Avila has said, a tiny drop of blood, does not bring death, not in the broken sky, nor for your own good, just let it pass by, suns moons and the rest, will bring you no ruin, closer to the test, for ones who seek lullaby, imagine each flower in bloom, see how time’s a butterfly, if that makes sense, yellow sand or tidal flood, always do your best, orange flares the waterline, your house is still stood, songs might make you cry, rejoice before the dust.

Zee

Men who need to love again, eat calf's liver and greens, nibble at succulent entrée’s, my Nana used to cobble stew, on stoves where I would keep, charms in the house that bore you, they make lovely women vain, their orange suns are sweet, white hotels glisten and sway, Nana used to walk the Brew, my Ma’s Bath House sweeping, steaming Copper’s iron tubed, faces shrouded cold as icons, these men do all the speaking, women if important to pursue, expensive designs golden maze, they won’t seek your ease, rich old guys at Cafe’ museums, want only wine and trophy.