Hace años, estuvimos allí

en silencio.

"No voy hacerte daño, no llores." Sin embargo, estuvimos allí por horas, tan lejos del muelle, mis ojos en tus manos, y hasta hoy esos silencios siguiéndome a traer jardines inesperados.

"La echo en falta," y una lluvia que no ha partido jamás. yo qué sé.

De rodillas en el arriate, esperandote pulsar y un chasquido, tantos años, tu rostro medio escondido detrás de la máquina. "Si, acércate a mi. No voy hacerte daño. jamás."

Berkeley

No, I don't.

A few blocks from there, the smell of freshly caught fish. Ships on docks.

"This morning of thin air, this air entering your nose like a  jelly mixture. Cold. A day without birds singing, lost in their flights, trying to reach a south. Sur. Sul.
The word for south in Spanish a rumbling drum: Sur.
South: it’s a ship docking.
South: an old bandoneon.
South: A sailor that knew how to paint. His hands on you.
South: Your sailor. Your wharf.
Where are you, Sur ?
Where am I ?"

mais do texto, aqui. 

Arriving

"Vediamo, ancora un'altra volta," lui mi diceva. Each time a renewed solitude, all these returns summer after summer and impossible golondrinas flying around mid-morning.

Un deseo de Gardel y sus tangos y Mariana y sus dedos en el acordeón: 'la fisarmonica,' diceva. E oggi il cello soprattutto zitto.

Altri estati.

Today, my shoes worn out, silently. The house not more than a mirage, layer over layer over years over my grandmother's sleepless nights and all the vast ocean they negotiated before arriving here.

If I sit still I'll fulfill my journey: and in time will become at home, again.

Recuerdos de otra Ypacarí - Hacia Big Sur

Desde donde vimos ballenas, hace ya años sin cuenta..

Electric Farm

senza parole, yet..

Windmill farm

it was summertime when they crossed that border. half-empty packs on their backs, they came across the windmill farm. not a graveyard. Instead, a promise of lighter mornings behind those hills. Brighter, these dreamed promises appeared, although embroidered in much longing for a land they would not see again in their lifetime.

marbles, fables, and other paths

He worked for years behind those walls. Silently, landed pins on shoe soles, tied leather knots, crunched peanuts during burning seasons. I had never walked by those factory walls before. All those water lilies impossibly blooming in august, under no sun to be seen. Silently.

Giaccomo had a wife and three daughters. Arrived there before the war, silently, weary, but holding some hope. Manzinni, se chiamava il padre suo. Era morto da anni. Had not ever dreamed he would meet Marta, and so soon, after all.

Lunch break

Peter used to look at the illuminated altar three times a week. Between one and two, on sunny afternoons, the light was best. Silently he thought about crocodiles, elephants, a backyard in Luanda he had not seen for ages, but which refused to leave, day or night.

When the lake froze

In 1956 I had opened that door

[We had almost two feet of snow. I spent most of the morning shoveling it out of the uncovered porch and the pathway that led to the cabin. Later in the afternoon, Jemime appeared from across the lake. I could not believe she had made that far. With a book in her hand. Eyes almost impossibly green...]

I had read about Malawi

yet, earlier that day

Imagine rain on an impossibly cold day

 

Chromotherapy - Colored cups

[On a window sill, water-filled colored glasses sit through the day: Violet for meditation, elevation, these subtleties; Blue for words and throat; Green for lungs and heart; Yellow washing liver, intestines, calming anxiety; orange and sex; and finally Red, centered on the sill, more exposed to the sun. Red for the structure of my path. Legs and feet. My armchair, my walking stick, my road diverging in two.]

California

July summer, before the snow

It was happening. And fast

so fast..

Two roads and not a yellow wood in sight

"and miles to go before I die.."

Silently

Months before any rain

say a little prayer, say.

Had I known then words would grow this thin

prehaps I would not have been that silent

Jumping

California. Agadez. Impossible deserts. 
She played sax for a very long time, before leaving for good.
He knew they had made love that night and yet all he remembered was the taste of alcohol and cigarettes in his mouth. Not much of her scent, words or how her eyes looked when they looked at him remained. It felt like raining and cold inside that small space while nearby pastures running dry and the cattle thinning out and all that there was to protect the young from coyotes was barbed wire.