for a moment of joy or moments no one pays for, i give myself a ‘jornal’. this makes me rich. try it.

la lluvia en la noche

la lluvia en la noche

evening rain

se cae en ramas de ciprés


falls on cypress branches

temblores en el aire

shivers in the air


la lluvia nocturna

evening rain


on stone pavement

seeps into a dry bed–

the sigh of quenched roots


la tarde de otoño

autumn afternoon


streaks my hair blue-gray

trembles on maples in gold

las caídas como oro en hojas de arce


wet morning


una mañana mojada

brushes mildew the starlings

frost on my thoughts


on tips of purple basil

autumn crackles into dreams

the sound of dying


el suenos de morir


Spanish words haven’t left me–they hover around, prance and whisper not to me but the starlings. I’m not sure if I’m getting the words right but this is how they do their dance in my consciousness. No jornal again for me? How much should I tag ‘the sigh of quenched of roots’?


September 30, 2009 Posted by | poetry, sequence | , , , , | Leave a comment