HISTORY
We thought then, when we were travelling,
The children knew something
Special, the way the light moved in their eyes,
The kinds of sounds they chose to become
Words. We would watch the owls
Beariing gifts of curious silver on silent
Wings. Not one of us said a thing.
I supposed that all things were
Like this. The rising of the moon
Was on everyone’s lips. How wonderful.
How pale. We had never seen a moon
Such as this one. Each time it was new.
Now, standing on the high places near
The edge of the water we think the wind
Has something important to say. It does
Not. It speaks but it has no words. It is
Tongue for the trees who tell us of
Bees, the names of the seasons,
The kind and number of the breezes,
How light makes sound through the cambium.
We have been so often wrong that for a
Moment we doubt the children.
We discover a red color we have
Never seen before. Language
Abandons us just before dusk.
We question each other with gestures,
Frantic to recall how it was
We made fire, how we knew to use
These roads, where we had been.
FOLK TALE
When we lived along the edge
Of the sea we used to heat our homes
With a certain oil that burned
With a particular clear green flame.
As children we thought this oil
Came from the fish that were
Our livelihood. Allejandro said
That the green was caused by the
Fact that a type of fish caught here
Shared a common dreaming.
They dreamed they did not live in the seas but
Instead swam through the oaks and
Firs that surrounded our village and
Because the entire fish was pressed
For this oil, their brains gave
Up the greens that were the color
Of the drempt leaves. Maria Xavier said, no,
It was only the food they fed upon
That graced the oil this way.
As we grew we found out that
The oil did not come from fish
At all, but rather from a sacred
Well on the cliffs above the sea.
This well had a peculiar
Property to it. It was impossible
To pump the oil out. It had
To be withdrawn by placing one’s
Mouth to the ground of the well
and sucking the fluid from the
Earth. We were the fish,
Our mouths pressed to the breast
Of the earth, our life breath
Drawing up this oil with fish
Mouth and exhaling emerald
Flames that warmed all the
Winters of our youth.
IF THERE IS NOWHERE
If there is nowhere for the spirit
To move, it builds its house in that
Place. We find wonder in the way
Distance reveals objects on the edge
Of disappearing. We find names for the way
A hand opens.
We give special attention
To the gesures trees make. “They are
Caressing the air.” We say.
There is a story, seldom told, of seeing
And not seeing, more than opening and
Closing the eyes.
We say dreaming is a way
Of seeing. We call from our sleep to
The waking world. It is a place
Where sound neglects language and
Spills from the lips, unhinged. It
Is unseen, a particle of the night.
What is seen: a body writhing beneath
Sheets – an avalanche of form.
HISTORY
We thought then, when we were travelling,
The children knew something
Special, the way the light moved in their eyes,
The kinds of sounds they chose to become
Words. We would watch the owls
Beariing gifts of curious silver on silent
Wings. Not one of us said a thing.
I supposed that all things were
Like this. The rising of the moon
Was on everyone’s lips. How wonderful.
How pale. We had never seen a moon
Such as this one. Each time it was new.
Now, standing on the high places near
The edge of the water we think the wind
Has something important to say. It does
Not. It speaks but it has no words. It is
Tongue for the trees who tell us of
Bees, the names of the seasons,
The kind and number of the breezes,
How light makes sound through the cambium.
We have been so often wrong that for a
Moment we doubt the children.
We discover a red color we have
Never seen before. Language
Abandons us just before dusk.
We question each other with gestures,
Frantic to recall how it was
We made fire, how we knew to use
These roads, where we had been.
DELTA MOON
The moon rose, thick,
Orange and damaged.
It was the horizon for a few
Moments, then, bleeding its
Refection into the river,
Lifted itself into the delta
And became the Autumn night.
