Skip to main content

El Bosque No Es Los Árboles

Yo salto de libro en libro
Como un pájaro vuela de rama
en rama.

Los dos buscamos comida,
y conexión, y cantamos todo el tiempo.
Pero a veces no puedo cantar.

Descanso sobre una rama
Por solo minutos.
Veo que hay algo para ver,

Pero no lo veo. En lugar,
Estoy viendo todas las ramas,
Las paginas, al mismo tiempo.

Y no hay música. Hay silencio y asombro,
Porque el día se ha convertido
la noche. Y el sol, las estrellas.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The Protagonist

She was more of an idea Than a person, yet Her arms reached through The wrinkled pages As I was planning Her defenestration. “Don't,” she said, holding My hand steady. Her typical loquaciousness Gone in a moment - being At the rim does that. Her desperate idea-fingers Grasping, trying to stop The Dusk. I brooded over her Resistance. This story Would be knee-deep In hardship, in never-before-felt Pain. How could I put her In the middle of this Vast dystopian wastebasket And hope she clamors Out? Perhaps I could give her A companion, a slobber-filled Canine or a not-so-kindred Spirit? I could fill her days With synchronicity, with a This-leads-to-that purpose, to fight through The drawl and the drudge, The beginning. In this oneiric world, More nightmarish than The last, she would find Herself at the cusp of Her Self. First demure, red lips Parting only for candy-laced words, And then later, only To respect a humble god or command Her hunger-ridden army To live. Yes, I see the smoke ...
Post a Comment
Read more

Yins and Yangs

Just this minute, the white-tailed Magpies are finding themselves In the verdant glades of the Rockies, As the aspens, fresh green, quake in the wind. They know nothing of Jon Snow, Or the window on the second floor Where I look out, remembering, Longing for apricity, the sun on my face. But the gloam is settling in, And the magpies will soon be seeking Windows of their own To look out of. And I think the shadows on my page Are cast like dark rainbows - made of light And things in the way. Awe-inspiring shapes I couldn't see in the dark. Is it best to be inside or Outside? Or can I be moved To appreciate this Pedulumic cycle - To be tossed, fro and to, Between creation and decay, Between sunrise and Sunset? Do you feel the loam in your hands, How rich it is when you dig deeper? Do you admire how perfectly The lilac blossom, with its powerful redolence, Seeks your attention as if to say, "Stay outside for a while." As my colleague yamm...
Post a Comment
Read more

Bonus Poem: Look Up!

Looking down, I read the priceless pages, Someone else, sweetly, precisely, Had written their drinkable life on. And I drank in the appreciation Of her words, one sentence at a time, A good, fresh white. Sensational, the clouds were Pouring in, filling my cup,  Easing in, with a soft voice that said, "Look up!" My eyes glanced, only peeking At first, toward the sky. Those rain-bringers harnessing My irises with glee. And as if it had been there All along, the whole long while, A sparrow drifted into the Watercolor before me, soaring. It glided on the currents That were my own world, too. And we shared the view, Him up there, I, eyes lifting further now. And then the wind found itself Playing in the cottonwood's hair. And I smiled, thinking About how good it probably felt, Those wind-fingers, sifting through. 
Post a Comment
Read more