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The Poet and his wife Rosa, in Satipo,
2009
There was
thick hard muddy grooves in the road.
Colorful
motor bikes moving in out of the jungle’s thickness.
I stare at
the banana trees marked with heavy leaning.
I have
awakened to the Satipo Jungle.
If I had
been born here how strange to think of giving her up!
Suddenly I
see with such clear eyes
The
hundred shades of greens and browns, my wife smells the dirt
That of
which she has just stepped over!
A thousand
singing red ants I saw passing on tree
branch
Birds
flying overhead, sounding a hundred expressions
Reveling:
Glory be in the heaven, for Satipo!
I must
return, to find new hard mud to walk upon.
