Poetry and Poetics
DAWN: OTAVALO MARKET
All night lone "chuscos" bark to the moon;
those who remember to howl, howl, fearing she
has drawn too close or will wander too far,
leaving them no chance to sniff the heavenly
market garbage for food, its ground and walls
for a mate.
Rocks along the streets shine, know they themselves
are moons, with thousands of years of lives within
and translucent at the surface.
Sparrows sleep, the light in their voices silent.
The small rain lingers near the mountain apu,
waiting in his shadow her turn to descend.
A porter dreams he's dreamed the load he'll carry
to market: droplets of the moon; earth's rocks;
the delight and brooding of lonely dogs.
© by Vincent Spina
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