THE YEAR

Days and days float by.

On the sides of the mountains

Blue shadows shift

And sift into silence.

Morning...

The cock crows.

There is that rosy glow on the mountain's edge;

Jose in the door of his hut;

Maria's lace bobbins

Tapping, tapping.

Evening...

The parrot's shrill cry;

Pale silver green stars.

Night...

The ghosts of dead Joses

And dead Marias

Sitting in the moonlight.

Peace —

Depressing,

Interminable

Peace.