Ode to Piedra

is no one

        is     no     one

    is     no     one

                        is no one

    no one.

            noone.

    nobody

                here

        today

                    now

    whenever somehow green protruding specks.

somehow no one yet just like the

    River Piedra and who...Maria and her priest.
Beautiful love. It's a  mist in a mountain village.
Passing your hair in the main fountain.

She was in the open air.
    He was in the closed.
She opened the door and let him outside.
    Only by chance in a bookstore did
something like this happen at that moment
that night.

    Words make no sense and
are only feeble tools.
Incoherence is the essential outcome. Too much effort/importance for the word.
Only butterflies R important.

They knew that this was the door they had somehow subconsciously anticipated all over their lives. The drums were beating their eternal rhythms.

    They went on to their respective but mutual rooms.
In a flash together. Always telepathic.

Together at last as if someone was carving out her stomach and doubling up. So good. So filling. Surge of electric shock passes through all her nerve endings and veins and arteries.
She feels the way she is supposed to have been feeling forever. But was deprived because of the lack of transportation. Finally she has all the components to fix her feeling machine. The way she was meant to run.