Days in May

August 6, 2007

Cordillera hewn from enigma
tell me your secrets,
I who come to approach your entrails
my forehead smooth
and my eyes swept with light and air.

Transfixed heights
that soothe my days
with your undeniable existence.
Speak to me.

Is it your profile or mine that I invoke, retracted and small?
Are we perhaps only hard pinnacles clutched by the earth?
Or are we also something weightless and dancing?

 I believe I understand.
We are as much smooth slope as broken scarp,
a garnish of happenings and landscapes.

 I believe I see.
In us the world is reflected
and we project it.
Without being outside more than inside
we are two mosaics of the universe.

 And we are beauties in love with the possibility of loving,

Steep and watching,

Unfolded and shy,

 In love, consistent, alert.
With skirt hems embroidered with stone, froth and springtime moss,
we are one,
clamoring for the day of true communion.

  Punta de Vacas, May 3, 2007
Patricia Rios
Translation – Trudi Richards

Días de Mayo  

Cordillera tajada de enigma
cuéntame tus secretos,
que vengo a arrimarme a tu entraña
con la frente suave
y los ojos volados de luz y aire.

 Altura enclavada
que me ablandas los días
con tu existencia innegable.

¿Es tu perfil o el mío el que invoco replegada y pequeña?

 ¿Somos acaso sólo duro monte agarrado a la tierra?
¿O somos también cosa ingrávida y danzante?

Creo que comprendo.
Somos tanto tersa ladera como escarpa arrugada,
una guarnición de sucesos y paisajes.

Creo que veo.
En nosotras se refleja el mundo
y lo proyectamos.
Sin ser afuera más que adentro
somos dos mosaicos del universo.

 Y somos bellas enamoradas de la posibilidad de amar,
a la espera.

Empinadas y atisbando,
a la espera.

Desplegadas y tímidas,
a la espera.

Enamoradas, consecuentes, alertas.
 Con falda de ruedo bordado de piedra, espuma y musgo de primavera,
somos una
que clama la llegada de la comunión verdadera.

Punta de Vacas, 3 de mayo 2007
Patricia Rios



April 21, 2007

What shall I say of you? 

I will say that at times I dream of you clearly,
at times I wake up and feel you,
At times my eyes are truly open
and I see you, glorious. 

Of colors, forms and textures, you are a weave
of silent darkness and brilliant gold,
stimulating coffee, joyous and flavorful,
and soft threads of live porcelain.
You are made of gazes, sounds and intentions.
You change and you do not change.
You have no borders. 

At times I perceive you in the ways of the pedestrians.
I intuit you in the eyes of the people, in their gestures.
At times I feel you breathing in a subway car.
I feel your pulse and your weight on the sports field.
I detect your wisdom… I don’t even know where! 

And I long for you.
And I live to see you.
Because of you I love others, many,
almost everyone
and myself. 
Universal human nation,
we all know you.
You are the remote birth place,
almost forgotten in some corner,
among fears and intoxicating roses,
among architectural plans and screaming headlines,
crutches, wigs and  flattering mirrors.
You are among pacemakers and forecasts for the millennium. 

But in the thicket of the internal world you remain intact.
Your inhabitants live, fly, see.
And they don’t earn bread with the sweat of their brow,
nor kill,
nor die.
They are gods. 

Human Nation, you await me.
You know that one day I will find you,
and many others will find you.
Almost everyone will.
Then you will open your arms to receive us
and will not scold us for taking so long
because for you time does not exist.

Patricia Rios


March 23, 2007

Before a flower
fish, bird or landscape dazzles me,
I will be captivated by simple people’s eyes. 
I will plunge into their moist warmth
until I am intoxicated with profundity. I will amuse myself with their sight,
the intertwining, sorting and comparing,
inexhaustibly pondering the times. 
I will be marveled by their potential to be stars,
shining directed, liberated light. Human eyes
live and felt windows
mood gauging
vigilant reporters
mind scouts. 
Undying light. ……………………. 


Antes de deslumbrarme la flor
el pez, el ave o el paisaje
me cautivarán los ojos simples de la gente. 

Me sumergiré en su húmeda tibieza
hasta embriagarme de profundidad. Me entretendré con su espectáculo,
su incansable conjugar de los tiempos
entrelazando, separando, comparando. 

Me maravillarán sus posibilidades
de ser astros que alumbran
con luz liberada dirigida. Ojos humanos
ventanas vivas, sentidas
medidores del ánimo
reporteros alertas
centinelas de la mente. 

Luz inmortal. 

Patricia Rios(2000)