By ALLISON HEDGE COKE First Morning for Nancy Barrio Tricentenario, Plaza de Banderas DC STR #1 Adams House Suite Wading footsteps of murdered in the barrio Juan calls home we sing our songs, tell stories, cry a bit when conquistador re-enactors dance in color. In a room facing chimneys over the place Nancy Morejón rests between sleeps lining free lines she whispers to hearing DC: Obsidiana, Vilma en Junio, Un Gato Pequeño A Mi Puerta. Morning is birdsong in an old Spanish town. Though the chief in his acquired misery echoes Kenya until he breathes life into malady, or at least compels us so to believe, she sleeps with Africa, Canton, and other points slavery turn Cuban in her bone breath bringing love, embrace, freedom from whatever holds the rest of us in weight. The lifting is simple, yet without it how sad we all be. Embargo=fear Yet here she is! 30 Sugaring our boughs before we break. Botero, blasted away, refilled with forty sculpted doves, in the city where from here I love you deeply and from there it was a night. Butterflies fill streets verse winging ways fluttered by faces middling dark hours leveling light. Here you held my hand, urged I follow, let Bogota beckon while we played our voices for victims recalled by lovers, grandmas, niños still swimming Escobar wakes.