Log Cabin Chronicles



Beneath the morning sun
a shadow follows me,
with her long hair blowing in the wind,
wearing pendant earrings, long nails,
clothes, shoes and purse,
even my strawberry lipstick.

To follow me,
she stretches on the gritty road,
then flies across the lake,
climbs the trees, carelessly,
as if everything in the world
were a smooth lawn.

She leaves me
when I reach the gate of my home.
This disguised guardian angel
who kept me company
always mute,
all of a sudden, disappears
into the hedge of hibiscus.

Night on the River


The night returns dragging the moon,
and birds' songs fall silent
in every bush,
a dark blanket covers the river that sleeps,
and there, where the night hides
the trails, I know your shadow
will take shape.

In this blackness
canoes await, kissing the sand
or tied to trees.
It's the hour when flood or drought
are never seen,
nor the ivory foam, nor rings of ripples,
but at my window I wait,
assured that soon you'll arrive,
like nocturnal forest scents.

This ebony universe
embroidered by the moon,
mixes river and sky as one,
where only the light of boats
slides on the waters
and stars are popcorn filling space.
From there you emerge,
filling my eyes with light.



The house we built
in the woods let winds in
through gaps in its bamboo walls,
and the sun through its roof of straw.
A cashew tree, full of grace,
leaned on the verandah
to let us pick red and yellow fruits
as we hung in our hammock.

From there we heard
the sounds of waterfalls,
of trees bending in the winds,
and shared our bread
with wandering birds.

The moon came and stretched our shadows
across the verandah stairs,
spilling countless drops of light
through our roof.

Tonight, this same shiny moon,
is a glowing crystal ball
insisting to show me love scenes
from a distant past.

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Copyright © 1996 Rosa Clement/Log Cabin Chronicles/01.97