What a lean boom the name Ecuador makes!
Like thunder in the blood of a slave,
A crisp splurge of revelation
At the moment when faith,
Turned senseless and perfect,
Triples the jungle tendon or shrivels up
Each guiding well, shaded by an oasis
Of sparse palm. From its indigo
Salvations of shadow, who would know
If an old map still told water,
Where is the way home?
Think of a man strolling, of the white-
Hot hands of the sun, applauding
His dry temples
With praise so cruel, so loud
The skull might melt for thanks
And curtsey to an audience of sand;
Only the coiled liberty of childhood
May strike the same key, the same
Deliberately passionate rest,
While the vine’s grievous tangle-
Like a separate body gored open
And pitched against him,
While the stranded poles of the hue yellow-
Zero his will in on
An abstract horizon.
Only such ample extremes
Nourish the tiny, sublime garden
He takes along in his tough gold pelt
Of a pouch, tied under his loins.
In the tracks dug by his bare feet,
Into the hollows his visits leave behind,
The dust he displaced trickles back
Filling his footprints, smoothing
The base for another dune,
Quenching, for the sake of others,
Those casually real details,
Making of all those losses a diamond of pleasure:
“The light that shines
‘In the mind of the child very early’.*
(* Recollected from John Woolman’s essay On Schools.)
Saint Ecuador
Did you enjoy the the artible “Saint Ecuador” from Stephen Berg on OZOFE.COM? Do you know anyone who could enjoy it as much as you do? If so, don't hesitate to share this post to them and your other beloved ones.
Leave a Reply