Oso Para Vos

SEA LINES.

The ebbing of foam and
spray from sea lines
reveals glittering calico
pebbles and shell fragments
upon coastal sands.
During the interim of
drought and abandonment,
the brilliance of this
treasure trove is dulled
by disclosure and desiccation.
There they remain,
rather indistinguishable
from the multitudes,
and dream of baptism
by tidal reclamation.

SOME PEOPLE.

Some people long for Spring,
and dream of assuaging the
bitter sores of Winter’s
darkness and solitude with
woodland walks and premature
sojourns to outdoor cafes.
And some people visualize
this year’s perfect garden,
an unusually colorful
palette of vibrant flora
exploding with hopefulness
and lust for living.
Or rather plan exotic
Summer vacations, June
weddings and cozy, social
outings with friends and
loved ones on traditional
holidays in April and May.
But others, like me, spend
year-long winters cuddled up in
blankets next to the fireplace,
reading about “some people”
in novels and romance magazines —
with utmost preoccupation.

LE MOMENT.

The way your staring green eyes
had suddenly bleached to grey;
your gaping mouth and stiffened muscles —
all frozen into a photographic still;
the stillness of space around us,
empty of airflow and sound;
all confirmed by the syncopated,
racing rhythms of my own heart …

And I knew that the moment had …

RETROSPECTIVE.

Over the decades,
endings muted into beginnings
like swirls of blue-grey smoke
creeping toward alabaster palaces
in primordial consciousness.
There, in the garden of creativity,
the ashes of one zillion charred
impulses rained heavily upon
furrows of expectations,
cultivating dreams with experience.