There Are Messages

There Are Messages

With selected words from César Vallejo's

The Black Messengers

Even as the endless storm blows, the wind

falls so gentle at moments we almost forget

the undertow's nag; we tread the black of our souls,

eyes bobbing lower. Dark furrows in the ocean of faces

swallow our arguments for living; each

sinks beyond sight into that barbaric script the moon's

blue hand pens below us.

Take me too deep to return, oh Christ

of the storm, oh Christ of terminal destiny embraced; these

groanings wear at the hull of my incarnation.

Give me only bread and wine as I wait

at the door. Quickly—for Death has called, offered

her swollen breast, and my guiding stars wink into coal

amid this churning pool of ink.