"Untitled"

Untitled

Yet I was born of hope

Und sie ist geboren aus dem Glauben

beyond dream incessant

in die Tatsche der Verzeitlichung

of any sentence I could create.

in einen Horizont ferner Bewegung.

-- Alfred Arteaga, from "Poem for Two Voices"



To be a small presence: your
burst of air, a molecule of blood
becoming mountains, veins of hair,
the black thread descending, all
the secrets of light gracing the waves;

Come and let me be nubbin,
nebulous and cloven, the wheat
covering the chaffed waves (Yes, sea!),
a coming to senses, to salt,
converting the moment into pages,
into the entire desire of the tide;

To know the mollusk of woman,
the taking in, I leave it to you;
I take in the perfect breath;
Alive; in the juncture of you,
a new north, the southern past, the sultry
beginning in a forest of seed;

entre una cara marcando horizontes de ojos
oscuros -- la oscuridad del futuro,
manos de la cosecha, the silk thread
of connections revealing time in its gory
details: a flag letting go, bunches
of onions in a single stall; The still

and stall of my life becoming this moment,
this dive of your eyes; This breath,
this burst of red, letting me be
this small presence, descending.



8/15/06