An Invitation

I want to
charm snakes in Bombay,
rise in caste
and mimic
the Portuguese prime minister.
I want red-headed clones
trapped
with callused hands pressed
against test-tube glass,
and I want to mock
them in moonlight
in the wake
of an apocalypse.
I’ll guzzle
lukewarm remnants
of Li Po’s chai
and rise from a cold sleep
centuries ahead
with your words evaporating
into mine,
where they meet
as vague as rabbit-tail clouds
melting into the Mallorca
sky.