2014 Notes along the way…
Words and names
sound the edge
of having been
and will be,
and no return,
There are the hours where light sleeps,
rests in the velvet of original voice,
waits the slightest quiver.
For me these days,
flashes in the periphery
catch the glance
of something known,
in the luminous folds
For A. D.
Tell me of this temple
of the open sky,
this not-so-secret sanctuary
of hills and byways, this tradition
of all experience. Speak to me
of this heritage of the heart, of your kin,
your patron saints, the spirit
of the lowest bow.
Tell me your living aspiration,
your favored prayer
for the lips.
But I went ahead and lied just the same.
It was closer to the truth, that lie.
Told as the last of the sun’s rays passed
into shadow. I told it
so she could smile.
No one knows I’m here. And with you now gone,
who will speak with me of the stars, of the lights in the hills
that glitter where the limbs of the great eucalyptus once gathered
the whole of the night. A warm cloak of unknowing, buffer
against the chill of unwanted distance.
Heat rises with the dust,
lays like a yoke across your shoulders,
an oxen in time, ever thirsting, ever forward,
but at whose bidding?
River of Words
Along the river, one can travel light,
for all that’s necessary is given—early whispers
illumine shadows, direction takes, flow determines
and breath holds true for sound—all else,
just added weight.
And as it does, the world and all that it is shifts
and all about us again accounts for itself anew.
On the road in Chiapas,
under a near-full-moon,
fired sugar cane.
Here, arrived here today, where
every star holds space sacred, where
every breath ever taken returns, where
notions of must and oughtare rendered superfluous—here.