Everyone runs.
I remain still, dazed.
Somewhere between the vast sea
and the blue sky,
In the land of dreams.
Fading away,
Filled with questions.
Mystery sinking into my skin.
Seeping, burning.
Still alone,
Still waiting.
Who by the water
remember the void,
Perhaps if you drink
not from the glass of oblivion
and stay
awake long enough.
But know:
the rain
is not the ocean,
the passing
of time
won’t make you
a sage.
Instead it will reveal
the silver threads,
the deep blue shadows,
like an impressionist painting
seen from far away
But if you stay long enough,
before words were spoken
and drink
from the other glass.
Awaiting:
genesis.
In the primal lands,
a shapeless shadow
of ancient archetypes.
I am the utterance
of my own name,
she claims.
She dwells inside a castle
in an island of mirrors,
forsaken.
I am the whore and the
holy one,
she says.
Through the mountains,
past the blood moon
under the flowing waves.
I am the honored one
and the scorned one,
she screams.
Named and unnamed,
in legends and tales
in music and myths.
I am the silence that is
incomprehensible,
she whispers.
Unknown to us all,
until the rain comes down
like thunder.
Can you hear
the call to adventure?
Under the sycamore trees
and constellations
of ancient dust,
at the verge of light.
Can you hear
the river underground?
In the woods,
in the shadows,
at night:
when there’s no one
you can lie to.
Can you hear
the mourning doves?
Your cells aching
to go beyond
the threshold
of your unlived life
and fight the dragons
of your imagination
with alchemy.
Can you feel
the rising wind,
tearing up
your dead
branches?
Can you feel
the grey smoke
of past bonfires,
burning heresy?
To taste the wounds
of your strength,
with elation.
To learn the secrets
of the cicadas,
and turn acorns
into stars.
Until She comes,
the one with
no beginning
and no end,
let us drink
from the cup
of atonement.
Only then
we return
home,
again.
Yesterday
I put on my wings
went by the window
and flew to the wires
of Edgell and Rt. 9,
Aligned myself like a
musical note on a scale
concealing my identity
from the pigeons
I saw cars, many cars
faces, thousands of faces
rushing up and down Edgell Rd.
looking down at bright phones
looking sadly at dark skies
going where?
The pigeons loved the frenzy
of humans,
found it amusing,
relaxing
until one starts the dance
and the others follow:
circles, spirals, waves
ellipses, up and down
acrobats in the air
Only to return
like feathered monks
to their hypnotic states:
quietly, perfectly aligned
like musical notes
on a scale.
Walking
in the middle of
my life, one day,
I got lost.
Dark woods,
creatures I thought I knew
but didn’t,
rituals I seemed to imagine
but couldn’t,
I didn’t stay lost
for long,
the sun peeked out
too soon,
and then I saw the path
to nothingness.
Some days I want to be a wild bird
Or just turn invisible
And be free, really free.
Other days I just want not to be seen
by mortal eyes
And be ethereal, boneless.
Most days I feel the time is near
When I will be both
Free and ethereal.
A plume, a stone, a broken seal.
A river of words to reveal
Why can’t I feel you?
A bird, a cup, an unmade bed
Another day that unfolds
What are you hiding?
A path, a wave, an opened door
Crossroads wherever I go
Where is your kingdom?
A tree, a hill, a quiet house
Nothing that time cannot heal
Why am I trembling?
A spell, an ankh, an ancient voice
Maybe I am finally awake
Or am I dreaming?
Lima, Perú, 1985
I was twelve, unripe
like a fruit not plump enough
to fall
on the ground
yet.
Tell me, the priest said
Did someone touch you?
No, but I lied to my mother,
stole coins from my father’s pocket.
But tell me, the priest insisted
Did someone touch you?
his American accent
cutting the silence
of the quiet chapel.
No, but I didn’t walk the dog
so he jumped
from the rooftop
and broke his rib.
He closed his eyes,
made the sign
of the cross and said
ten Padre Nuestros and
ten Ave Marias.
Be a good girl now.
I thought once about giving up.
A box of pills,
A bottle of rum.
Goodbye world.
But parents have six senses.
I was rushed to the ER
Where I grabbed the hand of a nurse
and asked her:
“Would you like to be my friend?”
I see them daily
I see them everywhere.
Even if I scream, they wouldn’t notice me
They wouldn’t hear me
Men and women walking
In the Garden of Good and Evil.
They think they know, they judge
But they don’t see past clouds.
Like sleepwalkers
Stepping on living creatures,
Careless, not seeing, not feeling
Just walking.
A coastal town swept in fog,
A looming sense of sadness
Moon peeking above
Waves hitting the rocks.
Memories spent by the sea
arrived like burning waves.
Why if I never return
to this coastal town?
Abysmal thoughts of loneliness.
The icy air froze my tears
while I was saying goodbye
to my coastal town.
Inside, my head is spinning.
Instead, I drift away, alone
into an unknown world.
Don’t let your first question be:
Where are you from?
The land that heard my first cry
can’t tell much about me, like
The secrets I hide
Why I trust my wings
The ghosts that I fight
Why tears fill my eyes, and
The songs I sing aloud when I know I am alone
Don’t ask me where I am from, no, don’t ask me that yet
My face is a mirror reflecting your gaze
The answers you are seeking just won’t come that way
Don’t ask me about my land, my roots, my start
They won’t give away my deepest scars
If you want to know me, then ask better questions, like
Do you dance in the rain?
Are you afraid of the unknown?
Do you have recurring dreams?
Have you unmasked the false prophets? and
What stories do you tell in the dark of the night?
What should I tell the earth?
I still remember
your last summer night,
drinking from the moonlight
and the silent sky.
I was there the day
they pronounced your fate:
A cheap transaction,
a shake of hands.
What should I tell the earth?
I saw when they came
to measure you,
to take your pictures
I ran away when
the death machines arrived
then returned too soon
to see your limbs
neatly piled, tied with rope.
I smelled death
and senseless sacrifice.
What should I tell the earth?
which now holds your graves
where only last autumn, you-
a couple of majestic maples
stood, coloring the landscape
crimson, indigo and red.
Beyond the Zimbabwe canopies
A sunny day across the plains
Mane flowing like a halo in the air
You were majestic, running free.
That day a hunter came for you
Who wanted your hide and your mane
He needed to feel like a man.
He needed to feel like a lord.
He used bait to lure you away
The arrow struck. You had to crawl
Intense pain you had to bear
Far away from your two prides.
For forty hours you walked in pain
Crisp winter grass under your paws
Your golden coat stained with red
Wandering through the barren lands.
“Farewell my cubs, my lioness
Warm dusty African sunsets
Our magic dark glittery nights
It’s time to leave this savannah.”
A bullet struck; he took your life
The entire world heard your last roar
Within me a bellow grew
I am not the same
You made me strong.