dusty mall ball

This week I did something I haven't done in years. I entered a mall. Almost like an out-of-body experience bringing back memories of a life I no longer live. It's true what Alice said: "...it's no use going back to yesterday, because I was a different person then."

a new day

Somehow the bright sun filled the room,

though windows were closed and curtains drawn.

The light crawled in through cracks and crannies

and spread through the darkened room,

as quickly as water flows from a broken glass.

With nowhere to hide and everything revealed,

The people donned bright clothes and festive hats.

Celebrations continued all day and through the night.

Joyous music spilled out of the windows and into the street.

Merriment overflowed from the room, floating in the night air.

Pachyderms and hyenas danced together in the mist.

The taste of contentment was sipped from every glass.

Revelers began to tire and curl up in the sunlit room to rest.

All is quiet; all is bright as sleep fell over the space.

They dreamt of the sun and the way it sparkles on the dew.

mango meditation II or the Tibetan Singing Bowl Strikes Again

The silence was swirling

around my head like smoke.

There was no movement

except for the branches

of the tree swaying slightly

in the breeze

I reached to pull a piece

of fruit off the tree

when suddenly a mad goose

began pecking at my feet

He was fiercely attacking

my ankles and legs.

I tried to step away.

But every turn brought him

closer.

I fed him red clover and stroked

his feathered head.

He ran away to fight other battles

leaving me in silence again.

ode

Ode to a Watch in the Night
(ODA A UN RELOJ EN LA NOCHE)
by Pablo Neruda

In the night, on your hand,
my watch shines as a glowworm
I listen to its ticking:
a dry whisper
coming

from your invisible hand.
Your hand then comes back to my breast in the darkness
to gather my dream and its rhythm.

The watch
relentlessly cuts at time
with its little saw teeth.
As in a forest
there fall
fragments of wood
tiny scraps, pieces
of foliage or nests,
without changing the silence,
without changing the fresh darkness;

so
relentlessly, the watch saws,
from your invisible hand,
moments, moments,
and minutes
fall like leaves,
fibers of ruined time,
small black plums.

As in the forest,
we smelled roots,
the water in some place fell away in drops
like fat, wet grapes
A tiny mill
grinds the night,
the shadow murmurs
falling from your hand
and filling the earth.
Dust,
earth, distance
grinds and grinds
on your hand.

I put
my arm
beneath your invisible neck,
beneath its tepid weight
and in my hand
the time falls,
the night falls,
little noises
of wood and the forest,
from divided night,
from fragments of shadow,
from water that falls and falls:

then
the dream falls
upon the watch and upon
your two sleeping hands,
falling like dark water
in the forest,

from the watch
to your body
making from you countries,
dark water,
time that falls
and flows within us.

And so the night passes,
shadows and space, earth
and time,
a thing that runs and falls
and passes away.
And so all the nights
go on earth,
leaving nothing but a vague
dark odor,
a leaf falls,
a drop falls
on the earth
quenching its sound,
the woods, the waters,
the meadows,
the bells,
the eyes
all sleep.

I hear your breathing,
my love:

let us sleep

mango meditation

the toll of the bell

resonating through my brain

drilling my body into the ground

a cumbersome book clung to my head

and with the next clang

the book opened revealing

a house balanced on my skull

the drilling stopped

my breath slowed

I became aware of my fingers

the peal fading into dusk

the house stood before me

beside it a mango tree

grew strong and tall

with heavy fruit pulling

the branches down low

Namaste, namaste

sincerely senseless sonnet

sizzling silver summer sandal shines splendidly

scorching sun stifles sweltering seated sticky sunbathers

seriously seeking sustaining serene shade

strange soul- searching sultry soldiers step solidly

stage soloists slide sideways singing silly songs

spectators see slowly setting sun sparkle superbly

suspicious strangers scrupulously stroll sluggishly

suddenly separating sadly

sidewalks shorten, shadows stretch

stars sprinkle shadowy sky

Who Are You?

making grimy mud pies in the dirt

shaping the dark, cool muck

into round compact disks

scoring the top into wedges

with a bent twig

decorating the pies with flowers

totally engrossed in the task

only the breeze as a playmate

until a caterpillar called her name

breaking her reverie

and sending her screaming

across the lawn

looking for her mother

who laughed until tears streamed

down her cheeks

and the young girl kicked her pies

breaking them in pieces

so they could return to the dirt

from which they came.