The old road was made by hand
The cow sleeps under the mesquite
What are you waiting for?
That the ripples of the sea
should weave us a blanket,
a net for our dreams?
At night, the snails compile slow mathematics.
The starfish creep through the twilight.
We're content.
The wind spells itself forward.
The owls sleep in the sun
and devours the darkness.
But there are paths in the water.
The saguaro points to the sky.
The guidebooks didn't show us this,
so let's go, carrying sea turtle shells
on our shoulders.
What more are you waiting for?
Autobús, Mulegé - Loreto 11/28/1985
translated from a collaborative poem written in Spanish with John Oliver Simon and me
Azul del sol
mangroves egrets
el agua se calle
El Viento no sigue
La tortuga no mira
las montañas secas
azlan el viejo
El camino no se llama
por el nombre
las montañas de la muerte
y ellas de la vida
bailan con el autobús
Porque? Preguntalo
al chofer. Las islas
flotan en el aire azul
con las nubes.
Blue sun
mangroves egrets
the water is so silent
the wind follows the sun
the turtle watches
as the dry mountains take flight
and the road calls us by name
the mountains of death
the mountains of life
dancing with the bus
why asks the driver
islands floating in the blue air
with the clouds.
11/25? 29? 1985
I wrote in spanish then translated it.
walking along the malecón at La Páz at sunset
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