how many flights of stairs to the moon
of at least to your house(?)
the wind resists, happy for a slight distraction
and gravity knows it again will in the end win ..
the bell in the gate
the dog in the door
the glass in the wall
the protective man
in the streets
with his eyes
with a gun
and with a chain
so to you
it is not very private .. even if you are forced to look at
the fair pichincha, the mountain, bathing in the last
of the evening’ waves
once that pichincha lies down
~ see her reclining face ~
silhouette .. glints with stars
from skies to cities
why would the rain bother with the coast(?)
in portly manta,
the sea city,
a cryptic feel
across the bridge to playa tarqui, the beach,
small fisherman with proud noses
prepare for journey
for imprecise days
newspapers say breakfast in cuenca, the southern city,
including papaya & oats costs cincuenta centavos
someone says wash day along the river,
el río tomebamba is a spectacle
one child says the vocal dialect there is off-beat
not a way of speaking but of singing
some people say all so that an angel protects the city
from domes the color blue above the cathedral
parade of sundays ..
the vendor & buyer
at the market in parque el ejido,
the park, know the expectation
the man who cannot speak
and who walks from person to person,
ask for favors with his broken paper
the man who cannot walk
and the other with the twisted arm
accepts the care in the streets
indigenous people take what they will,
tuesdays & thursdays, in this district,
el batán, unfolding refolding the trash sweetly
on the road to nayón, an outskirt,
this the city dump is picked thru by the many .
and so what happens to the remains of a city(?)
or thieves live in houses with crows
and broken floors ..
they have what they have but want very more
the rain in quito moderno, the modern city, is passive
never to disturb, it does not have to travel, for work, far
the light inside rain is as a tone inside autumn & more ..
it is modest & metrical
the sky is a liar ..
these mornings the sun reforms easily as a grey disk ..
drunken men pee in the park & when the afternoon arrives
they hide in behind the rains
2 am/../rain fog/the wind is asleep/&/the sky has/a stolen face/
certain weightless days/../the precipitation of oracles/../not seen/–/deeply felt
this world of white holes in & black holes out (tao) ..
then this day(s) in september, there is a black hole over new york,
energy out, en parques, the parks, en quito moderno, the brown pigeons
small-like doves d o n o t f l y
¿donde está la abertura blanca? (or) where is the white hole(?)
i walk to want in down avenida doce de octubre, the avenue,
next to the rains without a(ny)body
there is a ..
or there are breaks
in the inclemencies
and the sensation of clarity, present in march
is the sun on its oval path inside celestial mechanics ..
perpendicular light .. then all then is most direct most apparent
or i could say ..
during weeks in march, i am startled more than once by the attendance of light ..
spring equinox implies that the sun is overhead directly especially at the equator ..
vertical light makes clear everything .. all surfaces are penetrated
el pan del ecuador
está en todas las partes ..
en las cuadras de la cuidad
y a veces en las manos de la gente
the bread of ecuador
is everywhere ..
in the city blocks
and at times in the hands of the people
and too there, that bodega has a depiction of our suffering lord
near to a poster of a topless woman holding a can of motor oil ..
these are by way, on the way, to the bakery next door – with its moderate bread
listen to the moon
sleeping this night
casting no shadows
in this gullible capital
with these cautious men
who can become pointless
within these blind districts
somewhere the gods
in care of chaos
are stupid with joy
on the night side of the street
just outside a range of lights
.. the flourish of dark wings
and darken bodies
CHECK THIS OUT >>> an audio reading of a few poems: