Other Seasons. Harold J. Recinos

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СКАЧАТЬ of peace, then with choking faith in heaven

      will silently shake our heads. the day it happened,

      still covered in ash, makes the light grow thin for

      us—the ears torn off still listen.

      [The Letter]

      the future, is resting

      on the steps of the old

      building with chipped

      bricks, where the old man

      likes to sit to stare at windows

      on the other side of the street.

      in his pocket buried deep is an

      unopened letter from a love still

      wept that long ago descended into

      a still dark. a child takes a place

      beside him and with an upward glance

      smiles for his older eyes, making any

      semblance of sadness on the stoop take

      flight. together they sat jumping over

      shadows, searching for spots on the sidewalk

      that glowed, and laughing about the Summer

      drifting away. for hours they kept company

      greeting the changing day, naming creatures

      in the clouds slowly floating by, feeling love

      moved to offer the changing tides a gentle peace

      costing nothing to believe.

      [The Bum]

      he walked the city streets looking

      at the wandering priests, mothers,

      dealers, junkies, and aging drunks

      who live in different worlds. they

      looked like strangers to him carved

      from simple clay, names of flesh

      and bone, tossed across the altars

      of the earth, and planted with too

      many longings. sometimes, he

      imagined whispering to their wintered

      hearts a world of things about sleeping

      in a cardboard box, the wine bottle in

      his exhausted hands, the family he no

      longer knows, and the burning-bush of

      nightly dreams that does not speak.

      when his huge beggar eyes teared with

      sparrows infinitely near, you could

      see him sunk in silence finally whisper God

      is hunger, not love.

      [The Candle Store]

      I walked past the house of candles

      that tells us to think dutifully of light,

      to search the spreading night with blue

      flames, to find warmth for the feverish

      words that tug within. I saw a magician

      looking around in front of the store with

      a small group closing the day with laughter

      given by tricks. on the faces of the candle

      buyers you could see a curtain gently part

      to disclose bells ringing above their heads

      sounds of kindness. I stare up the street to

      the place that makes us bend our heads real

      low, where the silence received another son,

      and the Great Will that pines for the loud world

      has not yet come. tonight, I care about our

      weeping, not the sun, the moon, the stars, the

      deep sea, the mountains forested in green. I

      light candles for the most loved, the lost, the

      mothers weary of sleep, the beautiful brown

      faces not yet born that will walk this way some

      day. I will stand still now with the candle in

      my hand praying for the tiny flame to lift our

      spirits high above the thinning air for a taste

      of peace.

      [The Prayer]

      on the way to the corner church

      whenever he walked pass the store

      window with the broken flower pots,

      in him something shouted a concern for

      prayer, a need to hurry up to kneel at the

      altar rail to speak to the teacher who wrote

      in sand disclosing eternal truth. beyond the

      discords of a wounded world and deep in

      the roaming of his heart, the radiant images

      of infants in their mother’s arms interpreting

      love in shadowy pews comes to him. inside

      the space where the Mother of Heaven has

      made her residence, he gets as close to the Holy

      One at the foot of a simple wood cross as flesh

      permits. on the way back to his apartment where

      the СКАЧАТЬ