Classic Poem

I pull out of the depths of the earth
the ancient scream that began in your back
the old streets I'll no longer walk
the eyes yours so distant like the hour just elapsed
here in Bolivia
and that won't return
because all rivers run in that bird you know all about
for a time my hand called itself stone
and lived on eleventh street beyond the sun's reach
and where the night was salty
now I dig down to the earth's ancient depths
for the walk of your eyes over my back
and I throw it to the farthest sea from here in Bolivia
where the sun hugs me tightly over every cold
over every snowy mountain of the eastern range of the Andes
and in this fertile moment of my distance
I see the ocean as the sound of a single unending wave of a
Quechuan flute
it's just that I throw you to the thousand seas and you return
stone from the old street
father of my dead child
now my horse has no color
invisible to all but his constant companion the wind it
sings lullabies to the trees growing over my snow-capped breasts
it's the wind I tell you that urges me to taste like the earth's mineral depths
it's over there where the oracle tells me to throw you beloved stone
you will learn that I lost my body
when sister solitude by magic was turned into water
and invited me to bathe in her eyes
for the first time I was closer to the sun
and was permitted to enter the depths of the earth
it was there where my horse lost its night color
and I shifted my song to the other wing to continue my flight
for a while in the braid of the Indian woman who possesses me
I sell oranges all day I sell bananas
with my baby on my back I have always
since my empire fell because my brothers went mad
I travel in the braid of time
in the leaf moved by the wind that sings to it
unending journey like the sound of the wave of the flutes
like the sound of the wind in the snowy region of the flute organs
wind of waters it called me on this day
for you will learn that I also lost my name
letter by letter in the jungle and the desert
and in Lake Titicaca before reaching Bolivia
here the air is as pure as the gods intended
and the earth red
I pull out of the depths of the earth
the beloved stone that should return to the sea
volcanic stone igneous stone of my recurring dream
how many times have I left it back in the desert
completely under the powerful cactus that lives without water
I threw it to the bottom of the high lake of the gods exactly under the full moon
while I sang to it the longest bolero of love
because it's the serene Silence who will reside in me now
and my long hair flew in the strength of the wind
and I will not return
I said to the waters into which I threw the stone with an archangel's name
and I will never return
I said then
because Bolivia is strong
I dreamed the lake
and the stone emerges from the water's depths it
with its new-made familiar face of sadness
if before I gave you the first and final words of every day
if before I gave you the body I no longer have
if before the joy of that other marine world in my breasts
was given to you
now you will know the silence of the sands on the horizon
the pink cold of the mountains at sunset
if you insist on traveling with me down the continent toward the Amazon
where I will make an offering with what remains of me
the power of my hair
the long song I pulled out of the depths of the earth
the sun I keep in my right hand
so I may step out of you
beloved stone
and continue my flight
in that long-tailed parrot you know all about ...