where mountains washed by time
a settled fury above the stars
delusion ordained for points
and lines delusion for casting
a veil of enternal knowledge but
still, these washed mountains change.

interlocked interembraced yet free.
always the feel of wind when freedom
is echoed. is there no freedom on
a still windless day? before it
rains air is drawn out, thined
and made warm, the shutters drawn.

language and language, to build
a wall of language. on one side
lies the inexpressible, on the other,
the unjustifiable. the choice of
who we are is the choice what we shall
be able to express. it shall be this
wall. for the deapths, on what use
language? there are not both depths
and language. we shall never grow
accustomed to the massive body of
the unsaid, never resolve the
unframed question.

the china blue halo around the
moon by a street singer at 21,
and I gave him every dollar in
my pocket in return. pleiades at
26 when first I saw them between
trees on a brick laid cambridge
street, and we called them the
Judy cluster. the twice daily
tides because the earth is falling,
really falling, at 31. what right
family and postman to bring me news
beyond this! and what interest I
could have? is this not all that
dies when I die with?

oh the tyranny of the past,
which is the irredeemable parole.
is it that one can make too much
of the past or that one cannot
make enough of it? that is, does
it crush us with definitude?
at 26 to see the sunrise across
the camarque and castille,
to receive news john had
made it to the other side, to hear
while stranded amongst the
black forest pines, from my
radio, that rubinstein is dead.
is this language that dies when
i die with?

1990 Princeton, New Jersey                 octavio->