Aris turned His eyes to the side when

I raised my arm to stop

the lullaby of a creek

         wave froth on smooth

         sand and the endless

         rustle of tree leaves in my memory

melodies recanted

through the open window shutter

         a reddish water pitcher

         one wooden stool

         stars and chants

         that left thoughts

inexplicably saddening me

when the harsh north wind

galloped down

the mountainside

         to claim its right

         to my peaceful existence

in one dwelling made of clay

with a roof made of cane and soil

with a window always open

with a door ravaged and cracked

         perforated emotions  

         and this was the palace

         where I was served

my palatial dinner  

and this was my first cry

in the wilderness of the unjust world