I am slithering up the west side of a waterfall full with birds and pinwheels and flowers. a wise woman hovers on the east side. At first I think she is speaking with the birds and flowers passing by, floating down the slope. then I realize she is speaking to me. I can’t really hear her. I lean forward straining. she too leans forward. she has something important to tell me.

“go slow.”

she says more -- there are more words -- but they all mean the same thing.
“slow down.”
“poco a poco”

she sees me from across this river of flowers and pinwheels and birds, falling falling falling over a cliff, and she knows everything.

I strain to hear each word as though I will find the key or the final puzzle piece -- but all that echoes in my head is “go slow.”



I am a tree
I’m hiding in the woods in the dark of night waiting. noone can see me for what I am because tonight I’m a tree. I look out into the shadows and see the ghosts and fantasmas flying around. some are fat like beach balls, others whispy at the bottom and bulging at the top. others wear capes and have no shape at all -- they are air itself. the smell me but don’t see me and after a minute of consideration they decide to live and let live and they go about their ghostly things. I am waiting for daylight so I can leave my tree for other horizons. I will roll myself up in a small ball, roll down the trunk and come out the bottom of the tree.



mi dia del nombre y hay una chica sin cabeza. ella esta corriendo por el fondo -- a playas, arena suave y caliente. se fue de otra mujer, pero ella la vieja caminando lento, lento.
como siempre hay arboles - un bosque denso y alto. el bosque esta atras -- y las mujeres mueven adelante. no hay nada enfrente de ellas, ni un arbol, ni un mar, solo una linea recta abajo de sus pies.



septiembre :: cuatro

in the shadow of the volcano I kneel. I kneel on a rock and look down and out. I offer something of myself to the sea around me and to the lava pushing up up up from the center core to the brimming edge. all this activity behind me, but I am still and searching humbly. I am very very small. everything else is big and dramatic, colossal. massive rivers flood, winds whirl and turn somersaults, lava gushes. I look closely at a pebble, next to another pebble and another. I kneel and I float. I see stars.


septiembre :: tres

3. a fish is the sea. the sea is a cloud. the cloud billows like smoke. a woman hides in the folds of the cloud and raises her hands to float up. her face is calm but surprised. below the cloud, at the bottom of the sea, crowding around the fish’s mouth is a town of people as small as ants. they have just begun a great expedition and the look to the lady in the sky for guidance. they wish their way to outstreached arms and floating surprised eyes.


septiembre :: dos

you hide in a cave that looks like the trunk of a tree. outside the fox waits. and waits. you will not come out. your back to the exit. you face the deep dark inside of the tree cave. above your cave on the mountaintop that could be the top branch of a tree, a large bird, let’s call it a hawk, rests and stretches. she spreads her massive wings, looking carefully at each feather as though counting, or as though she knows each one by name and color and placement. she too waits. she and the fox wait for you. you are huddled in a ball and you are never coming out of this cave tree. never.

fast approaching is a witch. well maybe just an ordinary woman with a pointy hat, but a woman and she wears a cape or a big robe. she knows lots of things and she carries this knowledge in the palms of her hands cupped and reaching out towards you and your nest. she has a monkey with her that dances a path clear for her as she comes closer and closer to your lair. you are never coming out, not even for the witch lady and the monkey. though the monkey is cute and adorable, and has a chance of seducing you away from your inner wall. beyond the fox and the witch is a forest. beyond the hawk, the sky. you are in the cave treetrunk you cannot see what is beyond that; but it’s out there. you will stay where you are.


septiembre :: uno


el mundo se rompio. crumbling at your feet. you have left things for too long. you recline on a chez lounge, but the ground beneath is loose and shaken. in the distance beyond the horizon, low to the edge of what you can see and what you can’t, a wisp of smoke whistles up. gathering around it are small boulders, wispy and quiet rolling towards the center, reaching up up up to the tip of the smoke that breathes hot and garbled thruths.



two mountains face each other
the valley between is deep and dark
thick as mud

one mountain sustains mudslides and avalanches
the other a rooster perches at the very top crowing
his tail like a peacock folded beneath him a blanket over the northern slope

I feel suspended between the two hovering over the valley
head turning right left right left
look down
my heart sinks
I cannot have both
and one without the other does not appeal
but I cannot keep floating here above the two peaks looking down at the long sliding sloping abyss



you walk one way I another. how did we get so far
and we insist on keeping distance greater. our backs turned
heads held high
but we see the same horizon and we make our way there
our paths will circle forward and we will meet out there where the waves billow next to clouds and the land beckons

the monster that separates us waits till we are out of sight
but she will extinguish herself
and poof she will be gone
a ghost
a wisp of smoke
a damp odor in the back of our mouths



the world is cracking below and I am standing tall. my neck streches and pretends that 9meters is a normal height for someone like me. you ride a donkey and move away. a swarm of bees await you. they have a house a hive and you insist that it is not there that you can pass without a sting.



I’m huddled in a tent
it fits me like a fur coat
a bear head
on the outside I am threatening
inside I wait and wait until it’s safe to come out gain.
a girl hunches down by my feet and tries to read the lines around my toes. I tell her it only works with the palms of hands, but she insists she knows me
a parrot sits on a perch by an invisible window and mocks me.



little you big me
or is it
little me and big you
we are interchangeable

little the wind blows from our backs
big we see for miles and miles and send smoke signals like telepathy
there are mountains in the distance and currents at our feet. but we don’t really notice.

we stand face to face
measuring the distance