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CvK |
Monte
Alban |
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Monte
Alban dawning still at midday my
noon blazing through the cactus spines
pricking too sudden for more than my eyes to take. Sink
vision into the mountain where the Zapotec built
mountains. The
best we do is exultant straining. I
tear a leaf and it bleeds saffron upon
my palm: Its blood is sweet its
perfume talks with an eagle slash across my face. I
kneel to look at hidden flowers diffusing
red against the walls; pebbles
in the dust grind my knees reviving
drops of blood after so long dry. Immense
day of seeing, of caressing as the five is all I thought I had. And
I learned against the uncovered wall the archaeologist’s trick with time. Time
is for the asking: these
dressed and naked stones are
time, the clouds for the summer storm, the mescal plants are seconds. And
endless the moment! There
is a man below, threading
the ruins with his clay flute. He’ll
sell that and every stone
and leaf, if asked, but can never lose them. The
moment is endless! |