The Calligrapher’s Brush
by Jose R. Rodriguez
The calligrapher’s brush
Held gently in hand
Cradled by lovingkindess
fingers
and a steady mind.
{ Feeling. }
Now.
A golden dawn. The sun in your head.
Now.
The moon in planted firmly in your heart.
Leaving no trace but the imprint of a bird’s wing in the sky.
NOW.
A bud explodes
into star spangled glory
pledging no allegiance
but to the turning
of
the
wheel.
now…
…a horse’s tail turns
and dances lightly across the
pulp
-ed
rem
-nants
of SEVEN THOUSAND days.
Without a sound.
{ Being. }
¿Porque sonriè el dragòn?
Porque con la sabiduria de una vida profunda.
ya
sabè
no saber / no sè.
(Why does the dragon smile?
Because with the wisdom of a profound life
she knows “not knowing” / “don’t know.” )
Now.
I young child cries in the only language she needs to know.
A bell rings.
A dog barks.
<< ¡Señora ama de casa
aquī viene gas El Lago! >>
A leaf
drops.
Pirouetting.
touches
this
good
earth
with a satisfying — ‘tak’
{ Touching. }
Without
even
trying
this leaf has attained
true
complete
enlightenment.
what the earth has witnessed
what
you
your
self
have experienced the calligrapher’s brush
in the branch of a tree
in the gaze of an ancestor blinded by age and poverty
in the sigh of a lover / in the trill of a songbird
in the car alarm at midnight / in the laugh of a child / in Don Alvaro’s rake
in the scent of cilantro
in the essence of compost
in the sour first time taste of a
fruit you cannot name
in the small of your back…
in the caress of a breeze on your bare cheek
in the ring of a gong
(gong)
in the echo of your mind… .. .
IS
the calligrapher’s brush.