"The experience"
There are places
he crosses,
downtown streets porticos pass-ways
oppressed
by the height of their buildings,
the weight of their skies
which are, suddenly,
inhabited
by the echo of his steps,
the routine of a man walking by,
a fraction of his voice,
the venturous thread
of all his wonderings.
I know of the poems
he conceives while striding,
that plausibly have happened
inside of him long before
and that he accomplishes, steadily,
over a long tested plan.
The plan that was constructed
at his roots like a hymn
with strict stanzaic patterns,
blending revenge and passion
with pitiful thoughts, affection,
the scheme he perfected
because of the accident
which occurred to his soul
while on its journey,
the design that all other plans
strengthens,
or else annihilates, by purpose
or mistake.
So he grows up, predominant,
along the metal plates,
the bridges, the blocks of flats
he daily passes and ponders.
So he himself springs out
from the bare pavement
like a gush of petroleum,
a breaking iron tower,
a glass skyscraper.
31 December 2000
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