Megan Eaves-Egenes

I’m still thinking about the night

in Cuña Pirú
– the place named
for a stream
named for a thin woman.
You brought me
to the Salto Encantado,
waterfall of ill-fated lovers,
and said,
“If you drink the water, you will find your one.”
Already, it was playing
with flame.

We ate aubergines
in a deserted lodge
and let silence hold us
thick
and
warm
and then you started a song
Eu quero ser pra você
I want to be for you

Finally, night.
And oppressive heat
long, delicious hours
with tripods
hoping to catch meteors
hoping to brush fingers
or shoulders
accidentally
in the dark.

Instead I caught fire
like the sky
flaming red
driving Route 12
to Posadas.