Saturday Evening Walk (Memories of Heaven)

The wallpapered birch trees 
with their peeling dresses,
the ones that look like 
the exquisite garments 
of the Santos dolls, 
clothed by a local paper artist,

the church bells three avenues down 
the grassy, 
hyacinth hill,

"Dinner is served", 
a man's voice bellows
from the inside of a house,
children slide down the steep front lawn
rolled 
in an old carped 
like a laughing burrito,
and later on -
a boy learning to balance 
on a tight rope 
stretched 
between two sycamore trees.
I think about how 
a tree learns to keep its balance 
so perfectly,
never tempted 
to lean 
over the abyss.

"Gravity holds everything 
in place, only man 
pushes out beyond what 
he belongs to" *

Once upon a time
I, too, belonged
to this earth, to this world
as the sycamore tree
walking the tight rope
of its dream
silently,
contently,
in perfect balance.



April, 2012

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* Rilke, Book of Hours