xabixnaq Poetry (3)

i chanced upon a beach
for there tugs my heart
and being lost
i was found
and as the tongues of time
spoke their watery words
in the caves of the cliff
i heard the voices of phantoms
one so sweet
i approached the cliff
the better to listen
to her beckoning song
knowing it to be
only the sound of water searching
deep within the caves
my heart spoke to me
anyway

so I gazed along the shore
as i walked on sand renewed
there being shells aplenty
some yet full of life
so many-colored
and glistening aquamarine
i filled my pockets with some
smooth some sharp
til i felt silly carrying
what abounded
and began to unburden myself
of them where found

but the last
being so
I gazed upon it
to feed my eyes with its sheen
and glint and allure
and upon
this empty shell
i saw your face
knowing that all reflects you
each the same
this one not being more
nor less than the others
i tossed it into the sea
as the sirens sang in protest
and hissed in dark crevices
where in rushed the waters
of your words

i am a stranger now
even to mine own self
the anchor chains
have rusted in the salt of my sea

neither brother nor sister
nor friend can i muster
whether the hand proffered or no
for it is an alien world
all that is within it and me
incomprehensible

the sun shines not for me
the bell tolls not for me
i am a side track on an abandoned line
where old boxcars are left to rust
and the heat of summer simmers
in myriad mirages
so that what once was important
is now an illusion

adrift,
i am adrift without mooring
without course
without the glory of even a storm
i wander within myself
and no longer even bother
to peer across the fence of the horizon
nor to seek what I once craved to know

all assails so that i am bewildered
and cannot find a path nor an end
no high ground from flood
from which I might find vantage
and know the why of it or even you

sunrise brings fear and despair
sunset is a dying each day
oh whither come such things, such symbols and cymbals
and gods and Gods
what do we chase that is not made of dust
that is not a flash in the pan or is
that might make one wallow in happiness and understanding
and feed upon the earth
that nurtures the tree of love
from which all fruit forbidden
has fallen and rots upon the ground?

I woke up on a tight-rope
above what I could not see
such is life, for me and others
facing worse
Today, like another strung bead, ends
as on the street passes a child wheeling another
legless and unable to grasp anything

his hands are useless except to cradle
what I press there - a coin

this boy is cared for only by another
together making 17 years
and together they find life
as it is for them
found by fate without design
though the whole world might be blind
to their plight
while gringos look the other way
and those who live on the shore
polish their views from picture windows
not a whit to spare
to help to give more life
a fraction of ascension

and I overextended
facing a sinking treasure
pass to him and pal
and to old women
and the solitary blind
my meager funds
happily joyfully
and trust that phenomena
will spare me and mine kind
desperation though destitution
tortillas and salt each day only
garnished with wild herbs - weeds

while touristas sit plush and flush
and drink old wine from crystal
and gaze with vacuous souls
out the window
thinking of trifles and trinkets
and worrisome of a stain
on a designer shirt
or if the suitcase is big enough
for what they've
bought
knowing the history
it floods me past and present
and presages the future
where I gaze upon Chi ya'- Near water
and imagine the ancient priests
tear hearts out of slaves and prisoners
and captured warriors
feeding blood to their idols
offering the still beating heart to them
then casting their bodies down the temple stairs
tumbling rolling
crashing heartless in the dust
to the glee of their captors
who take them home headless, as trophies
and perch them dressed upon a seat
where they feast and celebrate with others
the misfortune
that still today we wreak upon our brothers
and especially upon
the children

a child at my gate
Francisco has waited
for my return
his clothes more soil than cloth
make him all the more
invisible
he has found the small coins
I left him as usual hidden
under our secret stone
but that was yesterday
and so I fish more coins
from my scant supply
from my too fine bag
and hand them over making big eyes
which he gleefully replicates
then he sees the bread
"y pan?" he asks
already tasting the spongy goodness
eyes looking up at me and beyond
and remembering that
a prophet once said that man
does not live by bread alone
I tear a big piece from mine
and thrust it at him
and give a bit of life
by the grace of the prophet

Na ka bii'? I ask his name
and he searches himself
for a proper reply
Majon Pak ; Without Money

and so we have touched
bridged by bread and a coin
on this muddy path
strewn with garbage
souls white as dough and
hard as bronze
each of us this day
this yesterday and tomorrow
look forward
each in his own way
down or up the path away....