En Familia The True Tribe Poem by guillermo veloso

Blow the winds of
Mistral dream
Gull and crab
Sand and tide
Oceans tossed on the foamy edge
Then deep with whale fin
To pastel plankton
Down where silt paths
Swirl in grey
Hopped on mottled turtle back and up
To surface and sun
Open faced to the light
Wedded in frothy bridal white foam
An island lies in the mist
Burning with green passion
Wet with desire
My home in the mist
My bride in jungle green
Only here can I rest
Clear eyed with true sight
Burning sight of
Leather hands that do not tremble as
Generations pass through them
The blood of ritual like babies and wine
Stories and myth
This is my true tribe
Roots deep as the sea that
Cradles the island/the sea grass its womb
Tribe as fierce as the dry golden plains that midwifed
Conquistadores
Here is my true tribe
Bursting at the belly of its prodigal children
Here is my blood
Here is my soul
Here is my quiet puddle in
Torrential sea
Here is the mask that
Waits the face
Here is the warm hand
Leather hand
Creased with generations
Here are the worn grey eyes, ivory
Clad with years
Here are the old become young
And babies become sages
Here we are sharing birth and
Death in the rolling centuries
By the sea