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Leap Day

Leap Day

the leftover fragments of other years
cobbled together
to make an impulsive day
beyond the capability
of my wristwatch to reconcile

what did we pour into
this freebie grabbag of hours?

a luminous sunrise
over islands over water
firing the wood paneling
of our little cabin

watching penguins from our breakfast
of warm rolls dotted with butter
melting to pools

looking for pudús (always)

watching metallic green hummingbirds
zip from fuchsia to pine bough

rambling down the beach path
to join the penguins on the water

taking in the black and white
volcanoes across the way
that mark the continent’s spine

entering the blue white yellow
Iglesia de Nuestra Señora de Chonchi
watching the stars wink
above a sea of incense and prayers

coming into Queilén, a warm haven
where the sea can sing to you
and the moon is tipped
in an unfamiliar way

every day is an uncertain gift
each date one that might never arrive
but some are imbued
with a bit more magic
sometimes we have the sense
to savor the day’s passing
before regret can even rise

poetry

The People Parade, as told by L’il Foot, the Little Penguin

The People Parade, as told by L’il Foot, the Little Penguin

they’re there all day if you look hard enough
one or two scattered along the boardwalk
hidden in the scrub

but it’s only when the light goes rose
that they gather by the hundreds
wide pockets of bodies
lining the shore

we wait for them to settle down
my mates and me
then when they’re calm and quiet
we move in close
to see them face-to-face

they make so many calls
it’s hard to know what they mean
squealing and cooing
trotting up the path

I like to stand still sometimes
let them flow around me like a river
of legs and eyes and voices
and wonder what their homes look like inside
where exactly are they hurrying off to?

it’s different every night
this evening there were four
who matched each step with mine
as if I were escorting them home
out under the stars together
heading back after a long day’s fishing

we took it easy together
ambling up the hill
the smallest one didn’t even wear trainers
he left his pink feet out in the cold
and his flip flops slapped against
the boards each step

I named him Li’l Toes
and blinked him a quiet goodnight peck
and wished him sweet dreams
wherever he lays his head
before I lost him in the crowd