AN OLD POTATO GIFTED WITH A SPROUTING SPIRIT LIVES ON TOP OF MY REFRIGERATOR

First it was only a green eye
lighted by the sun,
then two tender purple stems
sprinkled with pink.

Once or twice
I felt pity for the potato's life
four floors removed from the ground
and too many miles
from the perfume of the rain.

Once or twice
I felt pity for myself
farming affection
with an old and young potato
living on top of the refrigerator.
But the brown and wrinkled being
persisting in a green growing zeal
erased pities and cities
and once again I find myself
worshipping the potato spirit.
An earthling, a dancer in motion
unfolding leaves
to the beat of the spring.

LANGUAGE

Today I remembered a language invented in my childhood
full of words with no meaning
only feelings
and never a phrase
pronounced again

A language
of songs and passwords
for spelling of spells
for calling the world
intimate names.

COLLABORATION

Touching clay
feeling the memory of rivers
whispering streams carrying leaves
erosion stroking stones
pebbles twinkling in the water

Touching clay
finding fingerprints
of people who lived long ago
those who shaped the first vessels
the first images of the human soul

Listening to the slight breath
of a seed or an egg
unraveling the gaze of an old spirit
In reverence I welcome
the beginning of a lip

Touching the skin of the earth
fingers wet with the sap of time
dancing, haunting, hunting
for a new existence
slowly blooming
from memories and rivers
stones and stars
sacred rituals
and the history of human hands.