“Where I kneel, a rock stands.”
—Cid Corman
**
Santiago, Chile
to Valparaiso, through the central valley,
through bulked, abundant foothills
and fog-cloaked richness
to this singular coastal port
which relieves its streets
of graffiti
by adopting their artists
as its own.
**
Happenings occur
in hotel dining rooms
as surely as any other air—
sounds move, people
shift, things lift,
cups and saucers clink.
**
Puerto Varas, Chile
I wonder if they, the two
fishing the point at lake’s edge,
if they too take note of the volcano
on the opposite edge,
take note of low skimming gulls,
of morning constellations—
do they name stars, speak aloud
the time sun breaks mists,
do they too see
this we ?
**
Lake Llanquihue
Reaching across the lake,
the scrap-sculpted goddess
leans into breezes
lapping feathered bellies
of quick-diving ducks
fishing
the uncertain shores
at her feet.
**
Tell me how to say,
in Chilean-brushed Spanish,
“breeze-brushed lake.”
**
After Cid Corman…
to sing
the heart
rising
to sing
**
Witness
forever the work unending
repairs itself, the whole regained,
renewing forever unending
discovery-recovery
of words
just for that…
**
Visente Rosales Park—Osorbo Volcano
into the Andes foothills of pastures and farms, of green
into evergreen, to forests misting rains, shadowed mounds,
rounded clouds and water rounded volcanos—Chile
three thousand miles of shoreline, two-thousand volcanos, yet
but a single slice of the global arc of the “ring of fire”—and yet, too,
situs of witness, this click of moment, this cracked unfoldment
of conscious place as is, allows words to work
the pour of voice
into presence
**
Peula, Chile—Pop. 96
Nearby peaks pocket summer snow,
guide waist-high trails of clouds, gather
valley bottoms with grass.
**
Crossing into Argentina, the lakes
are home to English spoken fish—rainbows
and browns, to name two.
**
Lago Nahuel Huapi, Argentina
Last night’s rain drops
from fan-like needles
to roots still drinking.
**
2/26
One more day till the youngest turns
another year; the oldest turns the next.
One day each year, last is first.
**
Receiving is only part—witness the flower.
**
haiku—sharing clues of truth
**
Light
through the part in the curtains
where the windows meet.
**
The coffee stirrer
The napkin
Drinking
**
Jungles speak water’s tongue,
even at their edge—generators stutter
to regain—humans suck and spend their breath
with talk and song—and long is the light that sustains.
**
Puerto Iguazu, Argentina 3-1-18
for Elson Snow
February moves
that much faster, Elson—moving friends
remind us how close we are.
Grey and white feathers flash.
Jungle trees drip. Grey skies hold
news.
Nineties of years, too short. How many
the times to have written your name,
not enough.
Palms together, good friend.
No need for prayers of safe passage.
**
In Rio
the scholar came to explain
the principle structures of language,
he said. We ordered coffee,
talked—ordered more.
**
Santa Teresa Barrio
After fussing with switches,
the outlets work, as do the lamps.
Replacement lodgings. Making due.
Not complaining.
**
The beach
Multiples of people
track through gull-scratched sands.
Mist-filtered light
makes no new demands.
**
Angela
Old friends, we wander together
the botanical gardens, speaking aloud
our teacher’s names.
**
Language
is self-fulfilling
promise…
each utterance, whatever
the tongue, affirms
that life
within the greater life
there for the sake
of that utterance.
**
Children’s footsteps overhead
remind me of home—winged voices.
**
Flip-flops, t-shirts, no shirts.
Bare bellies, fat bellies, skin and smiles.
Bongia, Rio.
**
heating water for coffee
children upstairs readying for school
rain drops
**
Barking dogs fill voids
we can’t feel—stars too
place sky beyond reach.
**
Music rises.
The valley beneath the window
feeds all that’s open.
**
Three bare light bulbs light
the studio like day light,
outside darkness held there.
**
The wife snores gently.
Through the open window,
sounds of passing planes.
**
One calf, one foot,
one-half of the other—skin
from under the sheet.
**
Ask of your senses today
what else they’ll bring you
you’ve not yet missed.
**
Morning meds.
A sheet of paper.
Three pills, one curled edge.
**
Passing breezes unfurl
sheer curtain silence
into sunlight.
**
Security asks my name,
doesn’t listen—I write it
as he looks away.
**
At the airport…
runway puddles glisten
in surrounding spot lights—
inside chairs face out
**
if existence is transition,
to want something else
is as natural as it gets
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