I Rise

The hills are dressed

like the poets

like the birds

like the trees

with clamorous and purple thoughts

of golden days

of souls that descend in the cruel

darkness

of silence.

But my drive is greater:

sharpened claws

or

pointe shoes,

my strength rises within me though it may

rebuke the floor

for a moment.

A thousand voices thunder in my ears.

Assassin hands

pull up the roses

along the way

but

the roses are

the roses are

are

all thorns for those

assassin hands.

I fall, but upwards.

Untamed will to be.

To be, in spite of all.

Life makes a way through the pricks

of the crows

the doubts

and it is

that finally

or again

I AM

though sometimes unaware of it though sometimes unable to account for it though

and the only thing I know

NOW

is that you’re never too far down

it’s never too late

the abyss never too deep

(every abyss is bottomless, and so why measure it)

as if so

ANYONE

(you, or me, or him, or her, or that, or everything in this vast and always New World)

could complain that it’s impossible

to rise

when it’s so clear

that there’s only one life

and there are as many possible

realities

as days you may want to live

as it is true that

the river is a thousand waters

and the world

a thousand worlds.

A thousand times multiplied

at every moment

life is life is life is

ALL LEAPS

WILL ALIVE

WILD OPTIMISM

(though you believe a crow will twist your insides with doubt cruel darkness).

Upwards, although you fall

Upwards, although it falls through

Though I cry and they interrogate me

at the uterine portal bathed in my own blood in my casket

though

I believe there is nothing else beyond.

I always rise

reinvent

the next moment

eternal imperative to be

a new being

at times unrecognizable

with that familiar nostalgia for old wounds.

Because if there is nothing else beyond there is nothing else

to worry about

Because my eyes that barely make it out see

the floor the

trees the

mountains the

sky the

sun the

clouds the

uni- one

(and) (d)

verse.

Originally published in Spanish by Rosario Curiel at 18:20, 8 December 2008

http://rosariocuriel.blogspot.com/2008/12/salto.html

Stepping Stones

Your veins pop out

from so much thinking

what should you do

what have you done.

It’s a long road

that stretches you to the limit

of your bag of hopes,

the myriad possibilities of which you dream

while your feet are covered with the dust

of your lived days.

At times you dream

of an unrestrained bell,

tolling for the dead.

At others

-like this-

you rise

you rub your eyes

those of your soul

and you learn,

one more time,

to fly.

Originally  pulished in Spanish by Rosario Curiel at 14:16 on 13 April 2017 here:

http://rosariocuriel.blogspot.com/2017/04/losas.html

Pirates of Time

Beyond

the horizon of these waters,

the hours navigate

towards freedom.

We live at the margin of the moment

where I begin to be you

where you are already me:

Good Friends.

We sail the seas of Time

assaulting ships of days

holding ourselves together with

laughter and outpouring

of shared tears

The Treaties of Life.

Because that’s what it’s about:

assaulting learned horizons

breaking limits

escaping our necessities

that assault us like killer algae.

We construct then,

with the Anchor of Desire

to go Beyond

        Further Within,

the confines of our Friendship,

free from dragons and thorns,

washed over with red petals

of new blood

that throb

with belonging to the heart

of a New World.

Originally published in Spanish by Rosario Curiel at 12:58, 12^th of May 2017 here:

http://rosariocuriel.blogspot.com/