First Days in San Miguel de Allende
The flagellated Christ
is being carried
to San Miguel de Allende
He must be very heavy
yet the carriers persist
upon the sun flashed road
and the people follow
in the same way that people would seek
a river heard of but never yet found.
They are that thirsty.
In the garden the jacaranda
its blue festivities
is carrying sticks
into the hollow
behind the elbow
of the metal horse
in the bougainvillea
at the edge
of the singing pool.
I have come, for the first time, to Mexico.
And what has happened
to that intense ambition
with which I always awake?
in the colors, stolen
by the bloody Christs
of the churches,
by the children laughing
at my meager Spanish.
It is said
that when you rent a house here
the owners are not responsible
for church bells, barking dogs,
It is early in the morning.
Antonio is sweeping the blossoms away.
I am feeling something, incredibly,
The wren is busy, my pencil idle.
The silks of the jacaranda, as though
it is the most important work in the world,
The tops of the northbound trains are dangerous.
Still, they are heaped with hopefuls.
I understand their necessity.
Understanding, however, is not sharing.
Oh let there be a wedding of the
mind and the heart, if not today
Meanwhile, let me change my own life
into something better.
Meanwhile, on the streets of San Miguel de Allende
it is easy to smile.
“Hola,” I say to the children.
“Hi,” they say, as I pass
with my passport, and money, in my pocket.