For Pilar, Ana Elena, and Gabriela

And I’m here too.
Around me,
members of two families
who chat and laugh.
A glass table, its volcanic stone plinth,
and on the clear glass, in disarray,
everything is in its place.
I look out the window, and the branches of the trees
melt into greens
—heightened breath.
And the sunlight in the young hair of my sister.
And through the cups, the joyfulness of ice.

Where will it be brighter: here indoors, or outside?
Because if I go out, it will all be new—
the air, the mountains, the borders of the day.

Where is there more light?