ANNUAL CYCLE OF WALK

I breathe in slowly – solemn power
I breathe in slowly – uprooted home
That Land tore apart my dreaming too.
The most difficult koan is this one, the unuttered.

I stopped by chance, forefather Job,
And sat to watch the solitude:
Salty instants pinned upon seashells,
Only the Sky can enfold this heated foam.
I will knit you a robe of seaweed and sand.
You know. It is cold, forefather Job.

There are nights when I dream that I am pacing.
There are pacings when I think I am blood.
And so proud and sad and strong that naked,
I abandon the Night and depart.

And you, Love, that pierces me
In the ribs of the clouds,
Tell me, where does this Road lose you?
Where do you stand to welcome the shines
That come to wake up
Those who do not remember
And cannot forget?