Landscapes

The poem

Behind faces and gestures We remain mute And spoken words heavy With what we ignore or keep silent Betray us

I dare not speak for mankind I know so little of myself

But the Landscape

I see as a reflection Is also a lie stealing into My words I speak without remorse Of this image of myself And mankind my unequaled torment

I speak of Desert without repose Carved by relentless winds Torn up from its bowels

Blinded by sands Unsheltered solitary Yellow as death Wrinkled like parchment Face turned to the sun.

I speak Of men's passing So rare in this arid land That it is cherished like a refrain Until the return Of the jealous wind

And of the bird, so rare, Whose fleeting shadow Soothes the wounds made by the sun

And of the tree and the water Named Oasis For a woman's love

I speak of the voracious Sea Reclaiming shells from beaches Waves from children

The faceless Sea Its hundreds of drowned faces Wrapped in seaweed Slippery and green Like creatures of the deep

The reckless Sea, unfinished story, Removed from anquish Full of death tales

I speak of open valleys Fertile at men's feet Overgrown with flowers

Of captive summits

Of mountains, of clear skies Devoured by untamed evergreens

And of trees that know The welcome of lakes Black earth Errant pathways

Echoes of the faces Haunting our days.