She looks past her own layers
of make up and into
the heart of the border guard.
She wants him to take
her on the avenues that
are famous, some linear
and some round and round,
his gates are made of gold
and his city is being crushed and
being dreamed, tigers on the corners
and mirrors on the cars. Heaven’s gates
are opened and she cleans her face
and it’s hot, blood on her brow.