Tuesday, March 11, 2008
11 March 2008. Blurry birds of the morning, white sky, sun from the east. Inti, the Arauacan, cuerdó, Quilmes, Leubucó. Words in the middle of the night, debajo de las cubiertas. I offer them myself: to bless, for example--or to hide. Escondido, tucked away, blanket pulled high into a kind of tent--to shelter the light. Saturdays in Oceanside--very early. Something on the radio, Big John, Sparky. Lo chispeante. Chusma, potro, chiripá. Meanderings back and forth, always the anticipation--possibility of beginnings. A habit of sorts, an eagerness for the unknown...less danger, though, than delight. Glee. Or maybe simply deseo.