1
No artist can cover
that white Wall with color
at three in the afternoon
like Maestro sun
2
Isn’t it odd, even when a cloud
blocks out the Sun at 3 in the afternoon
the glow of your eyes in mine
is more intense than mango skin?
Isn’t it odd that the god
of everyday occurrences
should have painted the fields
mauve, yellow and white?
Isn’t it odd that even blocked out
the Sun in a fever of love
paints your long white hair
red?
3 Vermeer
This feeling of eternity
in bodies and things
This nameless longing
in the moment outside in time
that melancholy
in the eye’s memory
4
Whenever she saw a bench empty, she didn’t
take it as a given or not taken, she’d say:
“That’s where the sun sits”
5 Not me
Not me, he who raised
the Pyramid of the Sun
Not me, who turned
a beam of light into a body
Not me, that bleary eye
on the Causeway of the Dead.
Aridjis, Homero. “Solar Moments.” Poemas solares: Solar Poems. Trans. George McWhirter. San Francisco: City Lights Books, 2010. pp. 43-47.