Echoes

overhead the albatross
hangs motionless upon the air
and deep beneath the rolling waves
in labyrinths of coral caves
an echo of a distant time
comes willowing across the sand
and everything is green and submarine.

and no one called us to the land
and no one knows the wheres or whys.
something stirs and something tries
starts to climb toward the light.

strangers passing in the street
by chance two separate glances meet
and i am you and what i see is me.
and do i take you by the hand
and lead you through the land
and help me understand
the best i can.

and no one called us to the land
and no one crosses there alive.
no one speaks and no one tries
no one flies around the sun....



Richard William Wright, 1943 — 15 de septiembre de 2008