Looking for Whales from the Amate.

At twilight, the primaveras sing a song they only sound at that time. It is a whale song, sonorous, one note suspended, traveling with palpable vibration. I couldn’t tell what kind of animal it was, a bird or a bug, the first time I heard it; with eyes closed, it was easy to imagine whales floating over the Piedra Rahada.

As wind through the corn in September sound like waves, and the rustling of amate leaves, with just the right breeze, in June, is indistinguishable from rain on a sunny afternoon; the primavera’s song reminds me– that everything is one. This is how I came to write the poem I recite this week. The robins gave it to me.

Cahoots
I am in cahoots with the wind
Winnowing
Imagine the Sailor!
I scarcely can I am afraid
Of depths

Once I complained
To a friend about mountains
“They’re always in the way
Of the horizon”

“Yes, but what of the view
From the top”
She whispered

Embarrassed, I promise
Never to be so
Blindsighted again

To this same friend
I said, “I want to
Throw myself into the wind”

And did
For a half a life and back
This is what I learned there

The wind is with us
Everywhere
Inner zephyr
BloodJetstream
Maelstrom and middling

The door of breath swings
A screen in spring
Unhinge
And unabated

I just can’t help but say,
How can anyone not see?

That the wind
Are waves
And the waves
Are leaves
And the leaves
Are rain
And the rain
A breeze
The breeze
Is a whistle
The whistle
A bird
The bird
is a song
The song
A whale
The whale
An eddy
The eddy
A wave
The wave…

What gifts has nature given you?