But Silence

Rodrigo Landaeta
Silence imagines its margins expanding.
Not everyone sleeps like you.
Some have served their bodies and watch their own smoke rings.
Silence dramatizes the situation.
We wait for a meaningful word,
a show of sincerity. But silence.
The threshold of zeal spreads over the city.
All the silence suspects night.
You're the only one from the rooms who doesn't smell damp.
Being a thinking animal,
you prick up your ears to listen to the synesthesia of traffic
and you offer your music to night.
To someone who walks by the sea you look
like a guard of collectable tracks.
You measure the depth and shape of a footprint
like a spy on a seaside resort.
Eighteenth-century etchings fade away
as a lens focuses the slow pace of erosion.
Last night silence had more room.
In a dream you thought of nothing.
Now you think of one morning that wants to be
the first one to wake up. You think you'll calmly
defecate fever through each pore,
or that you're about to make someone seriously ill.
But silence.
<p style="text-align: center;"><strong>Greenhouse</strong></p>
Emotions should be examined,
reach deep down where the tides return,
give them a present shape.
When in the night sky
a delicate clump of clouds
drifts somewhere,
or lying on the sand
you watch in the day sky
the oval margin of the world,
the view of those visions
should show you more than meets the eye.
An emotion etches in the material
an intangible catastrophe,
that's why we stay for an indefinite time
buried in the basement of memory,
in an old greenhouse among
other species.

<td><a href="http://southernpacificreview.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/02/Rodrigo-Landaeta-mayo-2012.jpg"><img class="aligncenter size-full wp-image-2553" title="Rodrigo-Landaeta" alt="" src="http://southernpacificreview.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/02/Rodrigo-Landaeta-mayo-2012.jpg" height="170" /></a></td>
<td>Rodrigo Landaeta was born in Santiago de Chile in 1976. He is the author of <em>Guayaquil</em> (2008) and <em>Colección</em>(2008).</td>


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