She spoke no English, I no Spanish.
A pointless phrase or two, a frown, a shrug.
At last we gave up words and lifted off

in the simple, sumptuous grammar of the sign,
mime not quite worthy of Marceau perhaps,
but a warming intimacy of hands

and touching eyes. 'O.K.'
was the only word that passed,
and I said, 'Gracias'. And then

I gave the money - and suddenly those little
paper tokens with their codes and falderals
and etchings of grand buildings and great men

seemed to come between us. (It was partly
that I fumbled, dropped some, couldn't count.)
Very strange they seemed, stranger than language

(stranger even than breathing
hot smoke of shredded leaves).

At home we would exchange, oh,
things for things, or things for promises,

or, sometimes, songs for remedies.