la paloma

we were already sad

enough as we watched

a perfect blonde child

prance by the fountain

at belles artes.

did you see it,

she cried,

moving delicately

on her small

dancer toes.

paloma,

you echoed

in spanish,

not once but twice.

you and i,

we were already sad.

enough.

it was too close

to goodbye

and a moon

that never makes

you smile.

and if there was

a beautiful white dove

soaring above

all the darker birds,

what did that mean?

i do not know why

adults do not listen

to children.

they see the things

we skim over

because we are trying

to cope with a world

that is less

than heaven.

somehow

we forget to fly,

we lose our wings,

our voices become mute,

and mysteries

turn from dusk

to dawn.

the young girl

called out again,

this time

with more exuberance,

pointing a slender finger

towards the sky.

the clouds rolled

towards us,

from horizon to horizon,

across the celestrial,

without a beginning

or an end.

in one long sweep

everything changes.

there is nothing

left to say.

the child swirls

with the palomas

below us,

both leaping

with joy.

the last line of life

is suddenly

within sight.

i imagine there are feathers

tucked inside our hands;

winged creatures

brush against us.

they are everywhere.

san miguel de allende, mexico

june 2006