“That I don’t care makes it magnificent”
A day that ceases to roll forward,
but circles higher and higher,
unraveling as it goes,
revealing no components,
but familiarity,
as if deep within
and deep without
equalized.
Some words,
death for instance,
carry truth unimaginable.
Yet it rolls off the tongue
like a student of history recounting
what he’s never seen.
Some words
take a lifetime to define.
“Alone”
No need to share this moment,
complete in every respect.
“Erosion”
Every mouthful is the last,
every opening begins anew.
So say these grey, sprightful little birds
that peep and dash among winter’s branches.
Their moment of being
echoes painfully in my ears,
like the Pied Piper
calling away the children.
Each note drowns,
as a stream of silence
undercuts the world.
My friend,
this is neither tragic nor beautiful.
Remember how bandits lay on the tracks
listening for the train?
Everyone quiet in their intensity.
That’s the way it’s done,
listening to the ground inside,
waiting for what will come.
Is water carried by the stream
or is the stream, water?
There are people walking through me,
and I’m walking through my self.
The same thing is said over and over.
If a fellow knows where he is going,
if it can be said water is happy,
then so is he.
~ Etching on glass by Salvador Equihua