Alvaro Cardona-Hine & Barbara McCauley
photograph by Jeane George Weigel
Childhood
the cows walk ahead of me
down a road milky
with low-lying fog
from time to time
I hear voices
above the steady pounding
of the river
then I realize
it's the song
I had thought of singing
a butterfly with two
suitcases of color
on its shoulders
bumps into me
A Witness
I come from the arms of my mother
glad to live alone
with you and you and you
everywhere I look
an odor of light
bears down hard
upon the earth
the wind from the ocean
suddenly finds itself
among the barley
Three Rivers Tie A Knot In My
Handkerchief
now the sun is on the hill
caressing the backs of the eucalypti
from my room I can hear
the cicadas above their patron saints
woodpeckers up the mountain
I laugh a little under my breath
I have fooled the priest
who expected me at confession
my growth depends exclusively
on the broth
simmering in the kitchen
New Explanation
staring at a bird in the darkness
becomes evening evening
stresses its song a song
how light
after being stolen
is spent on useless roads
how the wind leans on blunt instruments
large fields are often small
Passage
for Barbara
what I wanted to tell you is on the tip of my tongue
the wind will find it in your ear
it is a day of rain and sun
some patches of snow hold out under the silent pines
flower after flower blooms directly across our path
Alvaro Cardona-Hine
Lhude Sing Cuccu
Alba Books Press 2015
