lunes, 16 de octubre de 2023

the place i know

 




the only place I know

to experience divine wisdom

is in this earth’s body

where I live

with blood bone breath

oxygen carbon hydrogen…

mitochondria humming

in an eternal dance

part of a larger serpentine

winged being…

arising from an unnamed 

primoridal ocean

coming ashore rhythmically

again and again

with each heartbeat


—Lorena





domingo, 3 de septiembre de 2023

Falling

 

falling

I am falling

as you may be falling too

falling 

into the earth

into realms of rest and dreams and soul

the realm of love

each one of us can be falling

falling into love

into love's embrace

as we stand in her grace

she flows down our arms

down our legs

past our knees

into the the earth

all demons who have spoken

in our minds

wherever they came from

who have spoken for too long

fall away...


—Lorena Wolfman

domingo, 18 de junio de 2023

resurgido

 el cardón venenoso de largas espinas

se ve glorioso en el calor de la tarde

sus capullos brotándose 

tinte cochinillo fucsia mexicana

delicados como las alas de una mariposa desplegándose

para encontrarse con el viento

el instinto de emprender vuelo

solo apenas disfrazado

por sus astilladas espinas de hueso

a punto de matar

la mayor parte del tiempo parece que está en la agonía

de una muerte lenta

sus brazos abiertos la cruz de la angustia que carga 

pero ahora resurgido se encuentra transfigurado

henchida su carne verde turgente

anhelo de reventarse

en canción de flor y transparencia

y aún sus espinas se abren

un espectáculo de santo resplandeciente

anunciando su luminosa amenaza

brillando a la luz del sol

a punto...



—Lorena Wolfman

miércoles, 14 de junio de 2023

arisen


the long spined poisonous cardon


looks glorious in the afternoon heat


her buds pressing themselves open into flower


mexican fucshia cochinil dye


delicate as butterfly wings unfolding


to meet the wind


the instinct to take flight 


disguised only barely


by her bone slivered quills 


poised to pierce flesh


most of the time she looks like she is in the throes 


of a slow death


her outspread arms


the cross of the agony she bears


but now arisen 


she stands transfigured 


having grown into her turgid green flesh


longing to burst 


into the song of blossom and translucency


and still her spines flay open 


in a show of saintly radiance


announcing their luminous threat


shining in the sunlight


poised… 




—Lorena Wolfman

she knows the shadows she casts

 


on an occasional visit

to a far corner of the garden

the palo dulce tree in full flower

white sprigs waving in the breeze

tells me of the abidding of trees


it's hot 

the winds blow in from up north

where the world is on fire


and I am wondering about shade

where it may fall and when

she in her lush rooted sweetness

knows


she witnesses the movement of the sun

from horizon to horizon

and even knows nocturnal shadows 

intimately


all around her shadows 

form and dissolve changing shape 

stitching a gown that is the dance itself 


sometimes like lace

sometimes like ruffles 

sometimes hanging heavy like muslin

then ineffable 

taking flight on the air

her ball gown is haute couture


a dark transparent body 

forming and dissolving

changing shape

here and not here

there and not there


the palo dulce

native to this land

through drought and rain

through clouds moonlight and sun

abides endures and even flourishes


she knows the dance of the shadows she casts


--  Lorena










illumined scroll


the advent of writing on an illumined screen

seduced by the light

drawn by the flame

like a moth

by instinct


towards something more ineffable 

more absolute and conclusively open

than this fragile human life


on an illumined scroll we tap with our fingertips

and by some invisible mechanism of longing

words appear

moving us  towards center

not to be mistaken for form

more like the sun burning

something closer to plasma

even finer

making our passage on earth somehow

indellible uncompromised in its delicacy 

in the grand and smallest scale of things 

beyond the opaque metamophosis of pen and paper

the light arises from 

         beyond thought 

—Lorena Wolfman




red sky

 we wake at dawn

blood red river 

on the horizon

and the winds come


we run

to capture

the sheer wonder

of crimson


"red sky at morning

sailors take warning"


molten clouds

a streak across the sky

changing too quickly

and too primal, too real and too vast to capture

evaporating as the sun rises


cell phones in hand 

this spectrum defies the camera's eye

even as we wonder how to capture it 

and fail again

in the retina of the present moment and of memory

it resides

untamed

undaunted

alive


— Lorena Wolfman