Sometimes I lose my life, only to find her again in a bar, in a conversation, in a completed task, or in a run through the park. She's mine because she has a will, energy, and direction. When she walks in the sand she leaves footprints and they're often crooked, stepping to a jazz that she listens to on her own. The rest of the time I leave scarcely a toe print-jutting off the edge of the communal impression where my shapen foot doesn't quite jive with yours and yours and yours. Its our path I suppose, but we possess it soulessly, without contemplation, with a murky purpose. And all the while phantom ways dance inside my head, leaving vanishing toe prints on my play dough brain and I feel them as something that could be, that could have been. But nothing more. The impulses fade before I can shift even a little toe. To translate a potential into action, imagine the neural pathways that must be run. So we walk, trod, plod, as indicated, aware of a settling unease and oblivious, just oblivious to a source, an escape, to ourselves marching to no end. And then I feel a peck on the neck or forearm and warmth spreads down my spine, into my soles and into my soul. A peck from full lips, anxious and loving, reincarnated upon meeting my molting skin. She's my life. Today I found her in the restaurants and bars of quito, as I shuddered and extended an arm and bent in a demi-plie, listening to myself dancing on my brain. And she grabbed me tight in a sprawling waltz as a stranger laid his life before my eyes. Because I saw how much deeper my feet sink with her and how good the sand feels between my toes and how much happier the course. So me and my life, I think we might shine for a while now. I think we might laugh loudly, and I think we might hope not to get lost again



domingo, 21 de febrero de 2010

Autumn

Oh how terrible the beauty of the first day of fall
The girl can only cry
She senses deep power
She senses the wind within
And if she were to perish
So she could dance
But what to do with the body of a mortal
Such power would kill her
Trample her to death
As unharnessed horses
for they know her not
though they rage within
But how to harness the wind
How to tame the sea
to forestall our own deaths must we kill?
She dices her own pain with words
The sea is calmer now
But oh such power
She must be the power
Or she will surely die
of grief
of a broken heart
of the waves crashing into her shell on the sand
But to live
To face the wind with dry eyes
How?
Create her pen whispers in black
Create
Translate
Translate
Translate
May your words sing the wind
Your steps the sea
Your eyes the skies
Your fingers the trees
Your face the moon
Translate, she dries her eyes
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