Laguna de Don Pedro and other poems
Rowena Hill
Laguna de Don Pedro
No ordering principle
except the shapes of stone
and bristly plants
the occurrences of wind,
sufficient for a world without people
the lake in the fold is black, green
restless, inert
pure to the edge of cruelty
so far mind must run back
to admit it.
Los Rastrojos
Veils of mist flood down
from the stony ridges
and each drop bursts its sheen
on the compact earth.
By chestnut horse light
and earthen wall glow
the seeds germinate.
Untitled
Is paradise in me
or in the tree?
Neither:
the song is bliss
but heaven is not the bird’s
for it does not know
and my knowing
corrodes bliss.
Both:
branches of blood or cloud
letters or sap
curl out of the ecstatic root
inhabiting us.
Karma
Who am I to inherit
a past life essence,
a plan worth carrying on?
I’m no one, null at the core,
a hollow nutshell bouncing
on the cosmic current.
Too many bad deaths
loose viruses into earth’s field;
they seep through the entropic clutter
sending image packets
to avid brain stations.
I catch some Chinese fragments,
you clutch Etruscan jewels,
someone swells into godhood.
It’s all fiction.
BURMA
The monks are elegant,
their heads shaven, their faces
variations on an ancient theme.
They walk slim and erect inside the folds
of their tunics.
I'm observing one
too beautiful
wearing a bright red robe
and scarlet velvet sandals.
Suddenly he spits
a jet of blood-red betel.
Untitled
The walls the floor
the tall teak pillars
breathe peace.
Entered it's a new element
a subtle water
a precious gas
that irrigates the heart
and leaves behind an incurable longing.
From here I won't leave whole.
I may look to others
the same or just older
but they won't see that a piece is missing
a fragment become a replica
that will wander for ever
among these ruins and splendors
and sleep on Buddha's toenail.
Tara
The distance between you and the ground
is simple, no veils or ciphers
Your star touches the earth
plants come up to meet it
mothers are hatched in the grass
they have no names yet
‘lovely’ is gathering its syllables
Heatstroke
Opened suddenly to sun
eyes lose consistency
only a thin film wavering
on the abyss of all the rest
bog crawling with lights
defends presence
Another hour of day
the surface holds all existence
dense as chocolate
inescapable as radiation