Timbre- Gabriel Gomez
June 10, 2012, 8:21 am
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: ,

I can’t tell you I had climbed for hours on
ledges and crawled through gaps in the earth.

My hands negotiating
through the teeth of the palisade
lipped under the vineyard of temperate skies.

And I can’t tell you that I came
onto a ledge within the shelter of a granite roof,
ceaselessly carved by centuries of dripping water.

Feeding from pooled water and singular sunlight
a chamisa plant sat like a chopped wood.

The opposite end of root
speaking for its entirety through
silence and color.

And I wish I could tell you that at the moment
I met its splitting scent under the enormity of stone
your name appeared in my throat with clarity.

And I wish we were old
and in front of a grand painting,
a picture or postcard of
Picasso’s “Guernica” perhaps.
It would be then that I would tell you
Picasso once said that it took him his entire life
to learn how to paint like a child.

It would be through these words
that would make you understand
the same clarity that pooled over me
on that ledge those years before
when as a young man I extended
like direction, like timbre itself
for a dying song that echoed your name.

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