“Con que estrellas siguen hablando
los rios que no desembocan?”

With which stars do they go on speaking,
the rivers that never reach the sea?
-Pablo Neruda

I found my soul, caged at the crossroads of spring
by an old and mythical beast smelling of pirated dreams.

It was at the center of roads that lead back and roads
that lead onward, where a wind blows from all directions.

Each night, washing away salt and sunscreen,
I wait to break from my husk, but the loneliness of the past

lies scattered across the sky. Off in the distance
I can hear a town just waking, a town just falling asleep.

And when the rain falls the rivers become un-navigable.
Distant bodies of mountains reflected in tempests of hail.

Resting in shadow, finger’s stiffening, a mess of matted hair
and burs, I would like to be up on the ridge that catches first sun.

But here I am, slipping my arm into the river, turning rocks.
In your absence by fish and fish alone what light.

www.perigee-art.com, Vol 7 Issue 2