Ella no es una campesina sabia
Who tells tales of wisdom
Scaring her neighbors
With insight and magic spells

However, she knows a good cloud,
When she sees one, extraordinary,
In a common sky
An amber organic urging, bobbing
Black specks of insects
Caught inside a tight embrace
Backlit by a dying sun.
On this quiet Sunday evening
She drinks Tinto Chilean wine,
Doña Dominga.

The morning after, when the sky is flat
She refuses to get out of bed
Reading a book about horseracing,
Betting, greed and breaking
Hoofs, they deafen her mood
Until flat grey clouds
Flee into the perfect ogee curve
Of a long eucalyptus leaf
As if cut with fine silk scissors.

She lifts her limpid body
Out of her stupor, stretches her arms
Towards the sky and spots a house
At the edge of the clouds
She wonders what it would be like
To live side-by-side to sky dreams

Ella no es una campesina sabia
Who tells tales of wisdom
Scaring her neighbors
With insight and magic spells.