De Rerum Natura
--for Joe
You seem to have been walking forever,
Beyond those trees, beyond that creek,
Even beyond where the washed blue sky
Meets the granite mountain. You travel light,
Just the backpack holding to your body.
You have food, a hand lens, binoculars,
A well-thumbed field guide. You stop
Along the path, call birds out of the sky,
Rub the leaves of alpine laurel in your fingers,
Allow the smell to deepen in your lungs.
You know all this, like Lucretius, at home
In this terrain of thought. Later in the day,
You leave the trail and make your way
To the creek, kneel down to drink, take off
Boots and socks, stretch out on the sand bar,
Let the dampness soak your feet. The wonder
Of water. From under your hat, you look at
Forms of gray stone slabs, a stand of pine trees,
Slope and sky. You rest between uncertainties.
Los Milagros
Early morning in Cuernavaca,
The pale sun pouring into the city
From over the eastern hills and slowly
Filling the streets, the alleys, the plaza
Which fronts the Edificio de Sud America,
Where a woman prepares her tortillas,
Hecho a mano and cooked in the gutter
On a crude charcoal grill, to be sold.
She has arrived on the bus, goes back
On the bus to a pueblo hidden in the hills.
Here she pats out the masa, heats it on the
Grill and offers it up to a man in a suit
Who hands her some pesetas and he tears
The tortilla, this wafer of corn soaked
In water, puts a piece on his tongue, tastes
The earth of his birthplace and more,
Sees a vision of himself playing soccer
Near the plaza with a ball made of rags
In the midst of a mud-splattered crowd
Of children who are shouting and kicking
Toward a dotcom dream they have stood
In the street to see on TV, the big screen
Shining in the storefront, even while the
Dark aguacero fills the gutters each day.
(back)
