although my soul does not sleep,although I do not rest.Sleep, sleep, and in the nightmay your whispers be softerthan a leaf of grass,or the silken fleece of lambs.May my flesh slumber in you,my worry, my trembling.In you, may my eyes closeand my heart sleep.
You said that you loved the lark more than any other bird because of its straight flight toward the sun. That is how I wanted our flight to be.Albatrosses fly over the sea, intoxicated by salt and iodine. They are like unfettered waves playing in the air, but they do not lose touch with the…
or during dawn’s maiden brightnessor afternoons of sacrifice?Or at the edge of a pale paththat encircles the farmlands,or upon the rim of a trembling fountain,whitened by a shimmering moon?Or beneath the forest’sluxuriant, raveled tresseswhere, calling his name,I was overtaken by the night?Not in the grotto that returnsthe echo of my cry?Oh no. To see him…
Scatter it as the rose does:your pain becomes hers to measure.Scatter it in a song,or in one great love’s desire.Do not resist the roselest you burn in its fire.
and I will stop and offer you to them,but they cannot bend down.The night watches over its creatures,except for the pine trees that never change:the old wounded springs that springblessed gum, eternal afternoons.If they could, the trees would lift youand carry you from valley to valley,and you would pass from arm to arm,a child runningfrom…
In this world, nothing comes better equipped than the alpaca; ones is more burdened with rags than the next. Her sky-high softness is such that if a newborn is placed on her back, he will not feel a bone of the animal.The weather is very hot. Today, large scissors that will cut and cut represent…
I hear the loving seasAnd rock my son, my sonNight fields of wheatThe wandering wind rocksI hear the loving windsAnd rock my son, my sonHis thousands worldsSilent God Father rocksI feel His hand in shadesAnd rock my son, my son.
when you’re going along,don’t you meet my baby.Sniffing at newborns,smelling for the milk,find salt, find cornmeal,don’t find my milk.Anti-Mother of the world,People-Collector –on the beaches and byways,don’t meet that child.The name he was baptized,that flower he grows with,forget it, Rememberer.Lose it, Death.Let wind and salt and sanddrive you crazy, mix you upso you can’t tellEast…
A million childrenIn chorus sing itBeneath the sun!In vain you tryTo break my verseOf affliction:The children sing itUnder God!
It rises from the pond aliveAs if new-born.I believe in my heart that what I wring from myselfTo tinge life’s canvasWith red of pallid hue, thus cloaking itIn luminous garb.
