Yellow blooms

beyond the yellow
 blooms of the broombrush — fierce wind

upon a fearless horizon

Wildalone

Wildalone*, I'm-

age harbouring a restless soul, uprooted

and haunted by this

intrinsic longing to be on the move

in chase of an archaic self-
reinventing ever illusionary horizon

somewhere else, obscure
like an emerald frosted century-
old heart-shaped sea-glass
relentlessly pounded by time and elements
glinting now at my weary feet
at the water's edge of Cabo Fisterra
believed once to be the End of the World
astounding, evermore unsettled
the mere proposition of a dream
distance destiny merging
someday, someplace

*Wildalone, самодива [samodiva]

_ _ _

“Now more than ever do I realize that I will never be content with a sedentary life, 

that I will always be haunted by thoughts of a sun-drenched elsewhere.” 

― Isabelle Eberhardt, The Nomad: The Diaries of Isabelle Eberhardt

The falls at Ezaro at the delta of Rio Xallas

The river plunging to the Atlantic in a waterfall.

At Earth's end

Towards the end (if not a vertical precipice)
Earth crumbles to sand, emerald sea-glass glitter
amidst white heart-shaped pebbles, seashells
a blue horizon strings, attempting to disappear
the Ocean breathes in violent gales of wind.
"It's not cold. It's windy," the Galicians joke.
And it is both! believe me. Glorious, breathtaking
as only the End of the World could be.
At Cabo Fisterra.

 _ _ _

"Power" (Adrienne Rich)

Living in the earth-deposits of our history

Today a backhoe divulged out of a crumbling flank of earth
one bottle amber perfect a hundred-year-old
cure for fever or melancholy a tonic
for living on this earth in the winters of this climate

Today I was reading about Marie Curie:
she must have known she suffered from radiation sickness
her body bombarded for years by the element
she had purified
It seems she denied to the end
the source of the cataracts on her eyes
the cracked and suppurating skin of her finger-ends
till she could no longer hold a test-tube or a pencil

She died a famous woman denying
her wounds
denying
her wounds came from the same source as her power

— Adrienne Rich

                                                                   At Fisterra, Galicia [The End of the World] : June 10th, 2015

The Pilgrim's Prayer

. . . 

3.

Thou wilst sweeten my final bitterness,

Thou wilst lighten my final weariness,

Thou wilst watch over my dreams,

Thou wilst wipe away my tears.

4.

Every morning wilst Thou us again

the torch of light and joy

and Thou wilst exchange the dead hours

I bring thee for a new and living morning. Amen.

from Hymn, The Pilgrim's Prayer

                                                                   Sunrise at O Cebreiro, Galicia : June 2nd, 2015