Good Friday in Providencia
At dawn, doves unloosen the light.
Antiphonal echoes, vibrato from deep caves
lift us from sleep and our unformed fears.
Dustmotes linger in the air.
A crow whose bailiwick is the mango tree
screeches and cackles in madcap mockery
of all our well-laid plans,
the ganglion of half-forgotten dreams.
The world becomes busy.
Cow bells for basura, street vendors and children,
the neurology of early morning vowels
watering the desiccated imagination.
Yet, everything is formal. The dampening of the dust,
the whisk of straw brooms
the punctual tolling of church bells
like the last line of a quatrain.
The sun neonizes the bougainvillea
The morning glory spreads its goodly gear.
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- Where are we?, Pintu Mahakul
- Gazing up the sky, Seira LNlee94
- no one has ever done good without....., RIC S. BASTASA
- the night deepens, RIC S. BASTASA
- to begin with....., RIC S. BASTASA
- who is someone in your mind?, RIC S. BASTASA
- try sipping this, RIC S. BASTASA
- the reason why i am still a part of you, RIC S. BASTASA
- the dream for peace, RIC S. BASTASA
- Heat, Evageline Echo