Silk

SILK

Walking to the church service held outside close to my home.
Singing, clapping, it is dark already and the village women have already made
Their little fires in a circle
Selling yuca, pupusas, pasteles, and the smoke from these fires
Drifts up up up above to the wide gigantic conacaste tree
Expanding into the branches, reaching
Blurring the line between here and there,
Aquí y allá, planet and void, space and heaven, and
I feel as if I am walking on a strong thin line of silk, a poem
Connecting all I know and am and am not and don´t and will.