meditation
2018-10-15
June 2015
it could have been the blank, mute wall
faced for hours
revealing a simple truth
that numb, opaque mirror (white plaster, tiny cracks)
charged by time and observation
making silence speak and fear vanish
but it wasn’t
it was instead the gray boulders
the thin river, the hot month
the shadow of a huge samán, the smell of guaduas
the scorching sun before the breeze
paired to the figure of Yeats’s old, old men*
admiring myself in the flow
that’s what it was
* William Butler Yeats, The Old Men Admiring Themselves in the Water (from, In the Seven Woods, 1903)
Jorge Mejia Hernandez
