Sudden Glimpses

street-in-ollantaytambo

With sudden glimpses

into a mist that is memory,

there’s a prose that is barely visible,

like an innuendo,

suggestive of something grounded.

Lost thoughts preoccupied and entangled

in narrow alleys turned to mud,

lines become stories

sprouting from rooster seed,

free to roam without fences

lodged for awhile in the present,

though it could be long ago

that progress passed you. Tiny farms forgotten and absent of windows,

full of holes for the banished souls

living without Soles.

Truth be told, life is hard.

The daily routine only eclipsed

by the beauty of perseverance.

Strong are bond and family,

the sense of village, identity.

Things that are forgotten

when words do not move me

to appreciate the details of my luxury.

Given everything but a sustained purpose.

Happy to travel to find glimpses.

Purpose, a strange concept

to those who have never journeyed

beyond their fields and flimsy walls

but share what they have

as if their kindness

is all of the world

they need to be aware of.

 Moving along the sodden passageways

through the half-light.

Andean rain make the cobbles wet,

everything smells of earth and mule shit.

With every step your boots round up echoes,

like the tiny clamor of Quechua pots,

earthen ovens smoking behind Inca walls.

He'll remember the faces under the brim of their hats,

the loss that lives in wrinkle lines,

in the doorways of suppertime,

dirty-faced kids clutch woven skirts.

Perhaps they mutter to each other in a strange tongue

“Where is he going?"

Slouching towards darkness and ruin.

Under the graves in the cliff,

past the crossroads to drift through the country night,

along the swollen shoulders of the river,

brown with rain run-off and blood memory,

you write down some sense of the past.

How passing through here could stir up

what had long ago settled.

He was out there a while

under the twilight eucalyptus,

listening to the children's singing

die into the distance of hills and pastureland,

where the animals sleep where they stand,

with a shadow that crawls up from under their feet

when the tiny lights of the village

vacate the square

but will not extinguish the insistent glare,

the collaboration that a restless mind

and inspiration seem to share.

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2 thoughts on “Sudden Glimpses

  1. dom, passing thru always stirs up something in an inquisitive artistic mind,you always become part of it and use it. awesome

  2. domtakis says:

    Thanks for saying so. The passing through aids in this appreciation of how precious and transitory the moment is, the capacity to experience it more fully.

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