Thursday, February 11, 2010




How many mirages does it take

in this desert of stars

to fill a glass of water?

How many ghosts must be summoned

to pull one corpse out of its grave alive?

How many birds

how many stars

how many nights and days must pass

to open one eye?

And how many facts and lies

must be gathered,

how many truths and mysteries ignored,

how many people die,

how many fake fossils

be gathered into a horde

like the skeletons of leaves

cut out of cardboard

to illustrate the tree of life in autumn

just so you can say I am

in the midst of existence

as if reality knew what you meant?

As if you said water

and flowers bloomed

as if you said star

and the light was exhumed

from the darkness it was buried in.

As if you said mine

and love disappeared,

and if you said self

and the universe wrote you out of its will

and left the rest to history.

As if you said me

and the fruit no longer knew the tree

it fell from

or the roots it fell toward

and the moon was no longer moved

to blossom on the dead branch

where no bird sings anymore

in its own voice

as if it had no choice.