Dawn
A boat-man passed with wide strides in the light-blue
dawn,
young, suntanned, ample in his body, brutish,
he turned in the quay towards the jetty. The echo
of his big, wet soles was heard all over the harbor.
And then, the lights of the quay, the old houses, the
faded window shutters,
despite their rusted hinges, the dust, the spiders,
were ready for dawn. And truly the sun came up;
its rosy and gray color curled around the cranes
of the quay
like the hair of a woman after her bath.
Tribute
Forehead of silver and your blue
eyes reflected beautifully
as you opened the piano
two fresh roses shivered in the vase
like flowers your temples bloomed.
Your hands fought and won
against the keys that retrieved
creating notes, the melody reward.
We listened. And the emotions-slaves
regained their freedom.
Years have gone, well I don’t remember,
though I believe that you had also sung
unless the nightingales sang
whether silent or talking your lips are fountain
when my years are but tired deer.
Butterflies will always flutter
leaving the pollen on the hand
goodbye only but a rustle, your hand as silk
when you vanished; butterflies
will always fly out through the window.
Excerpt
There were wooded areas and areas hidden by
rows of willows where the individual groups
settled and began the lunch ritual. The girls
might spend the entire one-hour break eating
and comparing “boy” notes, and preening
themselves and each other. And always a toilet
break it seemed, before starting back to the
school to wash and brush. The boys rushed
through lunch, even in the spring sun, and
were back on either the football field or on the
softball diamond, to play scrub ball. Two sides
were chosen and after every one on the batting
side had a chance to bat, the batters went out on
the field and the fielders hit. It was a great way
of involving whoever wanted to play. The lunch hour flew by and
all too soon the bell was being rung. On occasion, the two teachers
joined in and the lunch hour would be extended by ten to fifteen
minutes. Every minute was a bonus.
Lake
Depth of thought
only brings
illumination to the surface
of my mind
On the translucent surface
of this evening I’ll reflect
said the tallest fir—
calling the night pneuma
to dance in thankfulness
Great Spirit observing
from within my serene eyelids
to asking words of wisdom
from breeze faintly stroking
my trunk as though a painter’s
brush defining my wish
of letting today’s tiredness
behind and delve into the spirited
mind of water image floating
on smooth skin of the lake
