blackbird online journal spring 2002 vol.1 no. 1




In La Rambla Granatilla south of Mojácar
Mica glitters beneath your feet.
Everything you have been taught

Falls away, echoing.
Monolithic, multicolored walls stretch
To form a canyon

Opening to the sea. Where have you
That loneliness cannot follow, where

Thoughts cannot strike flint against your heart?
A ship edges over
Glassy waves. Strange green pods

Dangle alongside filmy leaves.
From the bushes, you hear
The liquid clicks of a shutter.

A trick with a rock we are trying to learn:
Cover the hand
With a round stone then rest another's palm

On top. In between, the rock holds steady,
The worlds of origin recede
For a long moment and anything is possible.

You choose to rub the iridescence
Between your palms, staining
Your grip with the juice of the sun.

Your hands shimmer like fishes, swimming
Ashore or walking toward the horizon.
The chirp of the gray and yellow tit pauses

Then the shutter clicks. You turn your
Head and see la rambla on fire, the sun
Hammering sparks just before it dies.  

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