The space

I live in a box made of concrete and glass:
the monotonous rhythm of my professionalism
and the wearing structure of my lively routine

With the same preoccupations, the advancements,
the learning: my marriage to life  which spins 
and demands, recedes and rewards.

The money that is due, the tax yet unpaid,
the distance to others, the miles to traverse:
a simple awareness tear down into threads.

Through tearing and mending I sometimes chance, 

upon that smallest space, made of concrete and glass,

that suddenly acquires the tones of fulfillment, 

the luxury of wilderness, and the expanding dimensions

of a thin atmosphere. And here I am welcomed

to nurture and imagine all the possibilities.

?

The train of possibilities

ran its course

as you looked at me intently

from across the door

we run

the ambition when we
started the race; the gallops and
one more breath; escaped

(
and we felt young again
pushing the threshold
of an imaginary battle
)

against an unreachable sunset
that tainted; in red the salty droplet
smashing against; the gravel

Spring

Unknowingly you woke up this morning to 

the instant in which spring conquered the darkness

that accompanied you every morning out

of bed. The abstracting silence of the night

replaced by the symphonic call of the  first migrating geese:

passengers  of the unpredictable railway of the seasons.

In their shed white feathers you read about their 

tired flight, and in the way they stuck together, as the 

wind gently swept them into the ancient willow, you smelled the 

perspiring fusion of devoted and monogamous love. 

In their broken symmetry you tasted  the precipitated escapade 

from the furious predator of isolation. And in their silent

repose on the cold waters of the river you admired  a wise

sense of accomplishment after a winter of victories and 

defeats. The sun now embraced their tired flight as you 

were caught prisoner of the crisp realization that 

all your life had been a preparation for the next step you 

were about to take into the confines of a spring of awareness

In Este

In Este the vineyards wept under the expanding

fog. Her empty eyes stared at me and

in their reverberating darkness I was trapped as

her spirit formed aged velvet crystals in my glass.

Violins scented of spring and a tiny droplet from her

barefooted dance inundated the morning breeze.

My foot stamped the gravel as a thinly crusted air

forced its way into my soul. Then

life evolved from her humid smile and from

her ancient throne she guided the perennial path

of yellow in the automn while day and

night her people gather under bread of moon

and salt of stars, pulling forward into

the simple complexity of life

Connections

I like the moment when my hand
opens up a window to the unknown

polar winds, a vintage of lifetimes and stories,
now caressing my combusting hand.

For an instant, we are sand: constrained and
docile to the invisibility of our surroundings.

A neon moon brings me in touch with my
most primitive instincts: claiming ownership of

the next wrong step and a turn that is a season too late.
Cha cha cha... Your hands of oak center me in

a forest of penetrating humidity and darkness where
you are trapped in the comforting walls of a

perennial stalactite - robust and fragile - as I
await to surrender to the next morning breeze

Failure

Diana speaks to me

musings of breaths in the darkness of seas

as she swims across the Gulf's straight

Defeat awaits her and from the ruins of despair 

she surges victorious, poking through  unmet

expectations with such docile grace

Through the gates of fiction

 Ofelia comes to me, like an allegorical poem 

of Neruda: captivating and sincere

Graves mistakes she committed 

in her journey for redemption: unwise 

youth the marred bride of innocence

How hard it is at times to confront 

the unwalked steps of our journeys,

and to swallow the bitter consequences 

of our most innocent mistakes

Fold outwards! Gain new understanding!
The sisters of unyielding wisdom whisper 

to the attentive defeatist that there is a nobler
and macroscopic side to life's most difficult defats