monsters call to themselves
and breezes eat the stones
a blue moon
sheds the underworld
of thought and time
it wallows in a pink sea
where out of the depths
his words like blown
cherry blossoms come
and a little bird finds
his pool of dreams
the birthing pool of ideas
then she is gone
flying under a soft
Columbian sky
growing hope, after him
whose creations and distractions
are the processes
that are necessary to show
the true feelings
hidden beneath the surface of things
where there is an endless combat
a struggle between darkness and light
the emotional duality of life
between that which is
and that which
has already been
for this is a place of images
images built upon images
constructed upon layers
and layers of so much paint
and you ask yourself ( without much insistence)
is there hope between a stone
and in this brief moment of asking
you give a lifetime
In memory of Gabriel García Márquez