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aloe                                                                                                                                           

 

 

blasted from grey-

green leaves

like an epiphany,

the scroll of your cello,

hooks and eyes,

or a hat stand

for your blue hat ?

                                                                                 

the bright green pads

of the American aloe

(agave Americana)

signify

a kind of gaiety

sparse to the desert;

I hear that song

how high is the sky?

and I want to catch you,

you holding

the bare branch of aloe

as a part of your arm...

a saeta...

an arrow

 

  

saeta:  a musical prayer sung in Seville during Holy week, an offering, literally an arrow.

 

 

 

 

so the rose                                                                                                               

 

  

allotted a fistful

of babies,

sprigs locked

into the ground,

new sisal (agave

sisilana) stays

to the shifting dunes

of Playa del Lunes

punctuate

our line of sight:

racing against shadow

camera ready

to seize

the silhouette

I step back ?

the point of its leaf

like a dagger

punctures my leg:

I look up

and see a crown

of thorns

 

 

  

 

 

bee-eater

 

 

a bee-eater,

harlequin plumage, bright

blue and grassy green

with a yellow rump, 

                                                                                                                           

a liquid quilp in the throat,

this cousin of the king-

fisher,

wings of an angel

pointed as knives,

brings the cut

into paradise - an epistle

from the gods"

 

we see it

every time we stop

on the way to La Polacra,

fluttering

above the field

of stones

that abuts

the stand of palm trees;

the sea beyond  -lapis

lazuli - that calls us
with the strength

of a mirage, or,

as you following

the aloe -

the way

of all devotional art