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Parguera,
the sea.
La mer—Carribe blue green and disappearing clouds.
Red
billed birds, wooden houses dusted with sand,
seafoam paint and spray.
Here, emptiness subsides into phosphorescence,
and I travel quickly in a Johnny Boat—a tourist and a fool
for
the light.
I am splayed for the moon,
lost in mangrove islands, entangled in trees and water.
Houseboats appear along the coast,
disappear into the deep
V of our wake,
giant floating lanterns of Puerto Rico.
People stand inside
the lanterns,
with
rum and pineapple drinks
as if they are the bits of phosphorescence
scattered ashore,
stringing their hands together with
strands of garland.
EB,
Puerto Rico Green # 2
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Blur
the ordinary identity.
A purple rose fulfills this monochrome heaven,
water runs from my fingertips onto your shoulders.
All night we hear the roar of these falls,
water at once with rock against rock and beyond rock.
Are there windows here --
or is there only your glance against so much emptiness.
I no longer see the distinction.
I live in the woods of thieves.
They steal my body, my heart, my words.
And my hands,
like radial suns with matched definite bones
only cup cold air for answers.
My feet balance perfectly the right and left chambers of my heart.
Mirrors and saints swim within this body,
become and remain sojourners
airborne on the black blackness of the night.
I am pulled and pushed into something else,
northbound, pressed-in.
(And all the while animal shadows are weaving their edges together
into a never heart-stop mystery of eyes.)
Now I forget the islands where we learned to harvest salt,
forget the time is borne of loss.
The blue-blackness is everything,
is the center
completely open where emptiness subsides.
The water parts, envelops my hand, my arm, my body,
as I turn river stones, enveloping the persistent sadness.
The pull it has. Again
I remember human faces in the center of flowers,
so quickly
brilliant white.
EB,
Waterfall
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What is this for?
A ceremony of crimson roses.
I am searching for that color this month.
Crimson. Criminal son.
What you have done
With your wrap of love?
What you have gathered
Into yourself
and held close like this bouquet?
EB,
from First / Entwined / Again / Rather Man
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