Palden Peak

The boy with the face of a statue
streches his limbs like he’s truly made of marble

The man with the hands of a piano player
draws formats on the smoky air

There is no music, no relief, but for the joker
drumming on the sides of his chair

Two more men, and one woman
holding up all by herself

One of the two, a little older
leans against the wall and smiles,

while the fifth stands orating,
heavy and serious beyond his years.

The woman sits on a sofa, leaning back,
her head colliding with the wall.

The boy, the man, the drummer, the smiling one
and Diogenes move in unision

a pillow, some juice, a warm hand against her cheek,
anything to make her comfortable.

She crumbles, smiles, apologizes for her clumsiness.
The men draw back, shy in an instant,

she says something serious about the weather,
a blush, a hand through hair and

all is forgotten, back to marble and pianoplaying in the air,
fistshaking and smiles against the wall

Drumming like a battlecall
the shadows closing in.

The clouds didn’t move as the sun went down,
the rain didn’t stop as the mud streams grew.
The crowds swelled like dough on heat
and screams were mistaken for outpours of joy.

Love took refuge under stones of age,
no one stopped the raking of the shriveled grass.
Shelters easily blown away by rage
took root in uncharted territory.

She didn’t know what was going on and, frankly,
she had no desire to. He kept tugging at her sleeve,
unable to even comprehend that she had wings.

The winds slowed down to a wondering whisper
as he kept yelling at the top of his long unused voice.
Her sleeve tore as she flew away.