Driving to Cádiz
A kind of bird like a swan but more triangular
dives and lifts behind the knives of a tractor—
five paper airplanes poking at turned dirt.
Sometimes, he wears the condom
for hours after he falls asleep. I feel carried.
His body becomes the way I think.
Not being hungry, but wanting
to halve something.
I’ve never finished with a man
without needing to repeat, in my head,
that I want him inside me.
We pass by piles of salt, orange cattle.
He asks me to rate the day.
We both know there’s nothing emptier
than recognition in a new landscape.