Even the crows here are better,
said the Traveler with a smile.
I mean they’re black like all the rest, but still, these got class.
The only ones I’ve heard, go
Caw! Caw!
These, well, what with all their whistlin’ and awailin’, you’d
think they were reffin’ the Game of Life.
You listen to ‘em and answer with a grin.
October 12, 1988
Cuuridabat, Costa Rica
I threw a coin in the water and I wished for peace, watched as it floated
lazily
down
to be obscured by the mud.
I probably should have thrown a larger coin.
October 11, 1988
Museo Nacional, Costa Rica
Cuando vivía, me inclinabas la cabeza en la calle,
y algunas veces, me decías.
Ahora que estoy muerto, me das flores y tus lágrimas
caen en mi cara fría.
October 11, 1988
San Jose, Costa Rica
It is in the church bell as it echoes across the distant hills,
in the rumble of a mountain stream coursing through the land,
in the rush of the wind among rocks and emerald green grass,
in the footsteps of the peasant leading his horse gently down the slope,
and it is in that warm heart beating,
in the blood coursing through his veins,
a song so deep that it is in his very soul,
Tierra.
To stop the heart is to stop the song and with a shot, he throws his arms to the sky, falls and hugs the earth,
kisses her reddening face,
and then he dies.
There are other warm hearts beating.
October 11, 1988
Curridabat, Costa Rica
El viento en el bambú es como la
lluvia en la azotea
En tanto que en el crepúsculo, espero
el regreso de mi esposo.
October 10, 1988
Curridabat, Costa Rica
Translation:
Salvadoran Wind
The wind in the bamboo is like
the rain on the roof
while in the twilight, I await
the return of my husband.
