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Watching Neruda Love

Pablo drives to the hot baths of Parral
in polite shorts and kind blue collared shirt
contemplating love and a woman he knew
when he was young and still unhurt
— if there were words to whisper he left them
un-whispered as he walked and wondered to himself

1.  between the shadow and the soul
he slips along the tall shadows of the impending night
footstep by soulstep by leapt to conclusion and buttery sigh
by salty innuendo — until he arrives

he finds his way to Thermas of Catillo,
pushes his elding legs into the warm mineral water
and for a moment his body remembers his soul

every ache of bone becomes a memory
of a perfect love loved imperfectly
every tautness of muscle becomes a prayer
for the lovely sex of his honeyed youth

2.  as if you were on fire from within
Pablo drives home by the silence of a radio
blaring the Opera Nacional
He heard not a note over the din of his heartbeat
He felt nothing but the licking of the flames
along the underbelly of his love
Gone away with winter  as he spent this Easter moment
without God or hope

His flesh now salved by the baths
the fire inside did nothing to keep him warm

Pablo arrives home, with 20 loves poems and a song of despair,
before the waning gibbous  breaks the horizon

3.  if suddenly you forget me
Pablo strips naked
sits at a plain chair at his worn teak desk
draws a pad of paper and a black pen from the drawer
and starts to write a letter to a woman far away

“you were my dear, my darling once,
before the withering of our love
before that lovely soul that was but you and me
dashed through life bittersweet
and left us with nothing of ourselves”

he stops, crumples the paper into a ball
tosses it into the rubbish bin.

Naked and alone

he begins again, “My once and nevermore darling,
if you should forget me, this would be a blessing
to your soul, but even now without the honesty of love
to to tell our lies, I hope you do not. ”

4.  yet I seem to glimpse you in every window
A poet sees what he sees, a moment
a ray of sunshine slicing through the trees — hope
where no hope could ever be.
Night where this is only night to see.

It is late when the moon begins her story,
later when his heart breaks in the telling.

“I see you,” he mutters
out the window to the place where no one is
except his daughter
whom the Nazi’s stole away.

Out every window he says again
and again through tears, “I see you.
O my beloved baby girl, I see you.”

The moon is too high to see when his tears stop.

5.  I was the owner of my own darkness
From some nowhere nowhen yet and still
too near to tell you with words
I watch the poet love
and love again, and tell this story,
this untellable story, to his own self

The night is everdark and darkening
but love — he loves he loves and he loves again.
The poet saw her, years ago in Spain
being older and lovelier and present
as his true love became a lie.

I watch him trace her face —
the graying of her hair, the path of chickadees
from her eyes to her hairline —
word by word onto the paper before him.

The dark grows darker, still he loves
and hows this darkness is his
and his alone to become
or leave unnamed.

6.  drunk with the great starry void
Pablo, naked, lies down
on his creaking bed
pulls a Mapucha blanket over himself
and becomes the void

star by star this moment imbibes a life
another life, another and another
until drunk about the blackness
every dream is the dream of dancing
Cueca dances
every song is a loud voice demanding
through torrents of laughter, “yes
we must have a good time!”

she is there
there in the dream
to love
and love
and love again.

he is tipsy on the love
as he snores the starry void into his soul.

7.  I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps
while Pablo sleeps
I scour Chilé for myself
and all the poems he wrote
that will, upon the hearing,
become me one day.

the poet steps like a calamity of words
flowing downhill mile by mile
begging to be measured for distance

I search for something solid,
but there is nothing but the echo,
“Rise up to be born with me, brother.
Give me your hand from the deep”

Pablo, even in his sleep, speaks
to me and so I rise
I rise and rise — to be born.
For love and Pablo’s sake.

8.  you and I are like two plants that grew together, roots entwined
He does not hear me when he wakes up,
the sun and every sky from then to now
hushes the veracity of the truth, “For you
I am here.

I stand, a monkey puzzle
to be left unsolved outside his window.

I close my eyes.
Pablo’s eyes are open for the both of us.
He stands beside me, we are entangled
by the roots of our poetry.

He is thinking about love again
Love of Chile. Love of his wife.
Love of his daughter.
Love and love and love — always love
again.

“Together,” I tell him, “we are you.”

I am not yet born so he does not hear me.
So, still, I watch Pablo love.

9.  you are lightning glancing off the peach trees
In the afternoon, the clouds slump over the mountain,
smirking gray and obvious
ready to reward irritation with irritation
ire with ire
fire with fire

the clouds cackle thunder like a whip in search of a horse

the lightning longs for sweetness
and fidgets with the peach trees
bolt by bolt, breeze by breeze

Pablo watches from his window,
knowing, yes, yes, dear god, yes
this is love as well.

10.  I knew rooms full of ashes, tunnels where the moon had lived
That was Easter one March so long ago,
I knew how the burning would leave
only ashes and me

Until I was born to forget that bodiless being,
me, watching Pablo love

breaking inside

become nothing but tunnels about the flesh
where the moon lives and plays
until

politics and memory leave him
dying before he can be dead
in the murk that comes with Pinochet.

epilogue
Pablo is murdered by ideologues
— men without poetry or love.
I watch him love
though he is gone
I watch him
I watch him love and love and love again
and cry

how to choose a friend

when the floor is covered in marbles
it is best to find seven jars & pick them up,
examine each one and place it in the first jar.

to start, all of the marbles will look similar,
perhaps some will be clear glass
and some will be white — but they will all fall
in a range of typical marble sizes
and you will know they are all marbles

but quickly, as you examine the marbles
you’ll notice the intricacies that differ
from one to the next — the swirls of color
the absence of swirls of color, the presence
of air bubbles, the specifics will go on and on
until each one strikes you as unique

at this point, when the marbles all seem unique,
decide which traits matter to you, what do you value?
when you find a marble that has one of the 4 traits
you value most of all, put it in the second jar

when you find a marble that has 2 of the traits you value
put it int he third jar.

when you find a marble that has 3 of the traits you value
put it in the fourth jar.

when you find a marble that has all the traits you value
put it in your pocket.

when you find a marble that has one of the 3 traits you most despise
put it in the fifth Jar

when you find a marble that has 2 of the 3 traits you most despise
put it in the 6th jar.

when you find a marble that has all the traits you most despise
put it in your pocket.

when you find a marble that has none of the traits you value
and none of the traits you despise put it in the 7th jar.

If you find nothing you love in your pocket, dump all of the marbles back out except the ones in the 7th jar, toss those in the trash with the ones in your pocket. Start again, but look more closely at the marbles and be more careful which traits you consider important.

trying to convert to the metric system

so it happened. i woke up again
wondering how many feet it is
between here and there.

it is cold out and it seems far
— too far to easily walk, but
life isn’t easy. I look down

i am naked.
there are 10 toes at the end of each foot.
i wiggle them.

so it happened. i am awake
wondering why toes are so
strange. they’re so damned strange.

i get up.
i slip on some denim shorts
and a navy tshirt.

it is cold out and i head toward
there  — wherever there is
i look down

two feet.
no matter how far away
it’s always two feet to get there.

forgive me

the muskrat is watching me
from inside the wall
along the river as it near-bursts
with spring’s floor and a dozen ducks
trying to find a mate

the hawk is circling above
as I sit among the nervous pigeons
hungry and wanting more
than a 6-inch sandwich full of nothing
particularly good.

tomorrow, the rain will fall
this sun will forget I was here
the muskrat and the hawk will too
— of course I know there is no tomorrow

a squirrels scurries across my foot
up a tree and out of sight — unaware
I did not say the words
I should have said.

The river continues rising
so I do too and sigh as I leave.

I only love you

I only love you
because, for the love of God,
you’re you

I only love the way you breathe
the way your voice echoes
through my every thought
and the dreams you let me drink

I only love you
because you’re you
no other reason
not your bright eyes
your long hair
or the way you tell me you love me more

I only love the way you think
the way you save me
from myself and all the universe
I fear when you’re not near

i only love you
because, for the love of God,
you’re you

driving nowhere, no how — i don’t know for sure

empty pockets in a blue-jean jacket
fake raybans and a sabbath shirt
the street’s still cold but I keep walkin
maybe someday it won’t hurt

i sung alotta songs
but ain’t heard no music yet
i said alotta things
i wish to god i could forget
i gave alotta love
but I got some more for you
i got alotta love
alotta love for you

a buck in the ashtray, nickels and dimes
coffee between my legs getting cold
57 in the 35
going faster, so i won’t get old

i sung alotta songs
but ain’t heard no music yet
i said alotta things
i wish to god i could forget
i gave alotta love
but I got some more for you
i got alotta love
alotta love for you

broke on the border heading north
life half-spent, but who knows what for?
money was always just money, I guess
now it’s even less since you went out the door

i sung alotta songs
but ain’t heard no music yet
i said alotta things
i wish to god i could forget
i gave alotta love
but I got some more for you
i got alotta love
alotta love for you

midnight rolling by with a dozen trucks
morning comin’ soon
yeah, i dont’ give a fuck

i got alotta love
alotta love for you
doesn’t really matter, don’t know what I’ll do

found the way to Boston, slipped right past
ended up in Lowell, nothing good can last
found my way back home, I guess that’s where I’ll crash
ended up alone, I know you didn’t ask

but
i sung alotta songs
still ain’t heard no music yet
i said alotta things
i wish to god i could forget
i gave alotta love
but I got some more for you
i got alotta love
alotta love for you

how not to make a point

joy is an egg
served uncooked
still in shell
through cold night air

it only takes five
thrown from an old yellow IROC Z
toward a front door
into a mailbox
at the lexus in the driveway
at the peek too high to reach easily
and one at the dog (for good luck)

crying on the front stoop

the darkness has no hands, but she holds me
tightly to her chest, suggests the moonlight
is nothing but a song sung when the world was young
to every new day since, and tells me
to myself with hope and softened dreams

heirloom

the man with the green stone ring
moves his hand without conviction
through the vacancy of sunlight
into the burning absence of shadow

if it is a gold ring, the angels know,
if it is silver, I suppose it is still enough

as the reflection of riches worn on his hand
plays like the memory of a butterfly
on the wall where pictures of his family hang
wordless and waiting for him to join them.