[roldan7]

Tree 3:46am

Garden of inflowing moments

archived in the eyes

by slow moving light

in the ever changing Now

like sweet fruit fall

from the tree of wounds and scars

to the hunger soil dawns

[roldan7]

late night wanderlust

Ah!

raw awakening

the mind in the dunegrass and

the senses dive

into the brinelight!

[roldan7]

A song for Sunday with magenta sky

[roldan7]

A June of Yesteryears

[roldan7]

...I think, and in some distant evening someone remembers the translucent atoms of our own dust, and then we shall live again, for a moment, to witness the birth of another night, remote milk breasts in the upper darkened quadrants, bathing with light the earth's lyrical animals 4:06am

[roldan7]

La sangre inocente y lejana, pero tan cerca y tan tibia en el espejo de los ojos. After AGNUS DEI by Francisco de Zurbarán

Oh Rascal Children of Gaza

You who constantly disturbed me with your screams under my window,

You who filled every morning with rush and chaos,

You who broke my vase and stole the lonely flower on my balcony,

Come back –

And scream as you want,

And break all the vases,

Steal all the flowers,

Come back,

Just come back…

- Khaled Juma, Palestinian poet

[roldan7]

I feel a soft gust of wind coming from the hallway, as when a door or a window is let open on a cool breezy night, and then Sunday, the Cat, appears, riding on that cool air like a creature from Remedios Varo's brush, golden and white, glowing with a light of her own, and I am very happy to see her, she purrs and walks around me in a circle a couple of times. The time is usually one or two in the morning, the ritual hours, and then she jumps on the table on which I am doing this or that, and sometimes she lies down and rests her little head on my arm or my hand, or she just lies down on whatever I am working on or reading, and when she does that, I almost always freeze in place because I don't want to disturb her unguarded sleep, and because I think it is such a privilege for me to have her trust, the trust of this beautiful creature who, one Sunday after Thanksgiving of last year, showed up and decided to stay, and has since then become a kind of psychological talisman, a necessary presence to balance or smooth out the rough edges of the days

[roldan7]

minimalist collage with rose and water

I unmemorize

the hymns of logic

from the slumbering tongue

and the inner lifeframes

where a space I hold

for the barefoot steps

when they come

in flower-like silence

through the gravity

of air and water

And hands and heart

-cast iron breathing, I open

for the sensual burial of reason

2:09am

[roldan7]

For each hollow hour of the day there is a hollow space in the hours of the night, overflowing with the insistent glow of truths, descending as sounds and light that may survive beyond the seeing and remembering, beyond the handprint traces in the lanscape, a swaying of storm lamps behind closed eyelids, astrolabes 2:15am

[roldan7]

pigs on the wing

[roldan7]

A word and a body of water

The song of days begins with a quiet word out of a shout, looking for a door to the still instant, to the time that does not pass, to drown the tungsten sun's thirst breathes under the water's shroud 2:59am

[roldan7]

the unspillable blood