The belief here: lives
are ruled by energies, that an empty seat
can retain an essence of its occupants
malevolent, benevolent. A found knife
casually taken; even a stray cat may tiptoe between
gods and the transient; messages. In the wind,
words that bring life or finality,
bring love or heartbreak.
And each of us a curious mixture;
energies, ancient but without wisdom;
each descending from a field of stars,
a river of milk from mother to mother.
Curious, your own that holds me,
whether purse-lipped madres of the pueblo scowl,
or the campesinos with ponchos rakishly
harnessing their tense shoulders stare,
only doves strutting around the plaza seeking
dropped crumbs from careless pensioners.
This energy, swirling in the fibrous tendrils of your eyes,
melodiously chanting, intoning syllabic spells
that even in the seashell labyrinth of your ears resonates
back, outwardly, unceasingly in-pulling;
swimming outside bad, good, dispassionate, struggling;
only surrendering, I inhale,
inhale… hold, release, inhale;
and while the air sweeps across my lips,
my life is regulated, for that very moment held,
evenly, bounded.