Rediscovery

Radames Ortiz

   
At some point, I put the
video game controller down,
an end to the bright waves
breaking the deep
tissue of the earth
and pick up a book,
an anthology really, of
poems locked in a cage,
a chaotic constellation
of stars. And I begin
to read. First poem-
BELIEF-"There are
those old aunts, far-off
godparents-whose houses
seem ready for ghosts." And
it begins, this journey
beyond familiar faces,
beyond the wild roaring
of sirens, the distant
howls of buildings.
It begins with a
few words, a stream
of symbols between
rooms, between the
deep relief of kisses.
This uncharted pathway,
this chorus of words
rising in smoked air.
And like a dry dust
in high desert, my bones
salute a distant hum.
This is the reshaping
of rough roots, the
reinvention of ghosts
groaning in May.
They say the trees listen,
as I listen to the loud
troubled notes the body
sings, man to woman,
song to song.

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