PATAGONIA LOST

In many ways I’ve left behind the dreams and loves
I cherished most, and yet as years go by the word
adios still binds me to the coos of turtledoves;
the glare of Austral skies, where a circling bird

swoops to snatch a creature fleeing in the brush.
Of trails Tehuelches stalked in bygone days,
nomad’s camps safe from modern rush;
before winka sliced the steppes with railways

forged by slaves to traffic Remingtons, or purged
the patterned prairies of jaguars and ñandues.
Concrete dams and buzzing pylons emerged
on cactus lands, carcasses shed lucent hues

on llanos swept anhydrous by the wailing winds.
Thus memory is laced with fuzzy images
of childhood pastures, heartstrings
my thoughts will not let go despite the ravages

of time and loss. To the present day I smile
at my lost. wayward worlds -red horizons
receding in a cone of plangent light- meanwhile
spirits summon me from crowded pantheons

of Patagonian lore. Captive of the fading
tones that grip my heart or force an odd grimace
cling to phantom walls, I cannot rouse the swaying
poplar trees, speak to you, caress your face.