Time

not not nine months
but nine lives shared at the womb of maps and books
full of wordshed

Pozos.

En el viaje estaba fascinado por aquella soledad
compartida entre cielo y mar igualmente vastos.
La playa era de pronto una línea invisible
y un miedo ácido le apretaba el estómago,
imaginaba con pánico naciente las profundidades inmensas y óscuras,
donde se hundiría como una piedra sólo con que se soltara.

Gardenkeeping

A parade of leaves, the green umbrella neatly wrapping up everything
a miniature landscape floundered.
not even a single brown spot
to punctuate
the passing of the season.

Practice

Though studious of ease,

fond of simple things,

and prizer of the sweets of Life,

I count many sleepless nights

and plenty of days of strife.

I rest, I wake, I drink, I sometimes love.

I fight, I have plenty of days of strife.

I build, I read, I write, I settle, I rove.

Content to live, content to die unknown.

Lord of myself, accountable to none.

Wake

greetings violent riverrun

may your fists hold rocks

while your path keeps stray

song for a quiet woman

snow queen
moving delicately in front of a wall of grays
unfocused exactly to miss the businessman
pace steady as an arrow
winking at the unruffled sky
who's throwing its light down for free
deciding
this will be a day of minor pleasures, small survivals
open a book to end a disagreeable conversation
have a brief laugh
finish a lukewarm kiss

A bench and a sunset

I don't go, though I should pretend

to walk among the numb and past and dead to see my friend

afternoon at the park

filled with the wind's far swell in its long sound

the place I leave is not one to be kept


I look at her tired gaze

at she who because she is cannot change

(that one thing)

dawning on the spot

not on the bookshelves of brown and paste and ore

we live in cages we ourselves forge