The Vozhd

"There are different orders of illusion," said the Vozhd.

He sat on a stump by the fire, looking through the flames. His voice compelled the others to listen without turning toward him, lest the spell be broken.

"The first veil covers what is there", he said.

No one spoke. They watched the flames trying to see what he saw. It was as if the fire were speaking.

A blackened finger of burning birch cracked, sending sparks into the darkness.

"The second veil hides another veil," he said.

There was an invisible nod from those sitting in the dimness. They stared at the fire, ears reaching out for the next sentence.

"The third veil hides nothing," he said, "It is the true veil of veils."

Unseen faces turned toward him. He sat like a stone, gazing into tongues of red and yellow fire.

[E. A. Costa September 2013]

At The Center Of The Earth....

                            "En cada planeta hay un cielo y un infierno...."

                                                       Francisco de Asís Fernandez


At the center of the earth
does the falling rain clatter
upon itself?

Does the body electronic
pass through two doors
at the same time like Siamese twins
shot out of a cannon at the circus?

Let the left hand ask the right
cheek to cheek
like salmon swimming upstream.

Poet dances with whatever planet
weighing everything, weighing nothing....

[E. A. Costa 1 October 2013]

Monody At The Fourth Remove

It takes the span of dumb persistent stone to see mountain

waves sailed by pine masts.

It takes a firebrand of lava after long and lonely waiting

to awaken to mute burning moon on listening snow.

Wit is short-lived and there is no living city.

This is to be retold and remembered.

When all is said and done there is one river, Ocean,

vast and encircling, unabridged, and rain that never forgets.

(E. A. Costa 27 September 2013)

The Bullfrog (Big Bureau Again)

Socrates: But if he did not acquire the knowledge in this life, then he must have had and learned it at some other time? 
Meno: Clearly he must. 
Socrates: Which must have been the time when he was not a man? 

                                                                                (Plato tr. Jowett)

Through the night on the creek bank

bellows fan desire,

round and hollow followed by a snapping whip:

CRO-AK CRO-AK CRO-AK....

I listened.

I am still listening.

What do the frogs remember of me?

[E. A. Costa 26 September 2013]

Realimentación

                       En la luna negra 

                      de los bandoleros, 
                      cantan las espuelas....

                      (Federico García Lorca)

The guitar awaiting midnight

the missing tea set

flesh fed to fat fish

in South Atlantic nets

the looking glass

the rabbit hole

Alma  Venus rising from the sea.

What you breathe every yesterday

is the other side of matter.

At some point transpires the completely uncivilized sentence

streaming up like bubbles from the sunken Islets of the Blessed.

(E. A. Costa 25 September 2013)

Pastoral

                                    Il n’y a pas lieu de craindre ou d’espérer,
                                    mais de chercher de nouvelles armes.

                                                                                               Gilles Deleuze

A broken mirror is no longer a mirror
nor any mirror nor many.

A broken glass is no longer a glass
nor any glass nor many.

There is no one infinity.

There is no endless rose.

There is no shattered song.

[E. A. Costa 18 September 2013]

6 feuilles avant la fin....

En la selva silenciosa

susurra brisa suave.

Hojas de memoria

mariposean por la sombra

como voces tenebrosas.

Soñando con señas

en la luz lobuna

ramos de hueso negro

agarran la luna nueva....

[E. A. Costa 5 septiembre 2013]