Moon Over the Third Day

(from the moon series - Camino de Santiago edition)

walks in the mist and the rain and the fog,
looks at the coast, at the giant rocks in the sea,
climbs and descends and laughs to itself,
anxious to arrive, sleeping on its feet, dreaming
of still days in the sun with its lover
perched on the couch watching mindless movies
that don’t mean shit, and slowly,

as the forest closes closer, as the day goes on,
as each foot moves automatically on the paved road,
realizes, it is not possible to enjoy
when there are circumstances,
when there is so much at fault in the world,
when you can’t tell while sitting in a bar in Asturias
whether to not have a job means a loss of purpose
or a gain of time, and slowly,

say over a lifetime, realizes, if there is one thing
that is truly realized, one truth that is understood,
one subtle corner of this complicated life
that becomes easier, then it is okay, then it is okay.

Moon Over Morning (Soto de Luiña)

(from the moon series - Camino de Santiago edition)

meditates while walking, meditates as stepping out the door around people, amongst people,, in the fine mist of the mountains, meditates over marmalade on toast and orange juice, meditates through sentences, through thoughts, meditates on the knots on the wall, meditates on the clock on the wall, stands in wet grass and meditates through bird calls thick in the morning, meditates through the colors of flowers by the houses, meditates through the football matches, through the smoke in the bar, through the pain of the feet, meditates with eyes open, with ears open, meditates into a state far from there, far from here, in between what is and what isn’t, meditates in the extremities, through the sleep, meditates and meditates and meditates

Moon Over the Second Night

(from the moon series - Camino de Santiago edition)

pushed to its limits or so it seems,
so it can’t tell, there’s always one more
step, one more kilometer, one more road
to take. There’s always another blister,
another shell, another arrow to mislead,
to point the way. And then the rain comes
and then the sun sets and the cars whiz by
and the human feeling crumbles on the coast
and there’s always one more,
even when there’s not.

So the moon, so close to arrival, to where
it doesn’t know, stays the course, does another
revolution, tells itself this is the last, winks in the sky
and disappears in a fit of existential crabiness.