I sit by the window. Impulse in form.
Trying to see the root of the storm.
I lean on a wrist, feet tucked aside.
Dreams whisper. Inaudible. Wide.
I sit by the window. A salvaged wick.
I hope and I sing--chase the day with a stick.
The sky and the walls require the sill.
The mint leaves drape their fingers down still. .
And so it is that I hear your overtones.
Sliding out. Already gone.
I sit and I freeze. Drain into pools.
I have slouched in my socks when the bell tolls.
"I said that the leaf may destory the bud;
what's fertile falls in fallow soil--a dud;
that on the flat field, the unshadowed plain
nature spills the seeds of trees in vain.
I sit by the window. Hands lock my knees.
My heavy shadow's my squat company."
Study of Place through Russian poetry
Pato Sirirí -Canción
"también el río, buscando cielo
siempre se aleja
y aquí en la orilla solo me deja
tu silbo errante...
Also the river, looking for the sky
always away--always moves farther
And here I am left on the bank alone
Your errant whistle
Study of Place through Argentinian folk songs