for Marc

This is how, while darkness

drew my profile with its little finger

I have learned to see past as Montale saw it,

The obscure thoughts of God descending
among a child’s drum beats,

over you, over me, over the lemon trees.
-Ilya Kaminsky, Praise



I.
The rain falls lighter now and I gaze

At the dark descended onto our town.
From this mountain shelter I saw

The old mango tree struck down
By fierce lightning from the east,

Thunder rumbling in the heart
Of the guardian of the land, who thrills

To the meeting of the drought’s last sigh 
And rush of rain brought by the northerlies

This 9th month of my return to my language. 
II.
I will go home to my folks, bringing fruits

From hills I had planted to marvelous trees
I had met in my travels in other lands

On this revolving earth: fragrant pears, 
Their fresh flushed cheeks, bright lemons,

Yellow and thirst-quenching in hot season.
I will traverse the town’s old cemetery

Where ancestors sleep in edgeless night. 
I will not wake them in their supreme repose,

Transient like them, I’m simply passing through. 
III.
I trust that beside the well which had been dug

By my elders, a storm lamp had been placed, 
Lighting up the path towards home, the lamp-

Lighter minding the first law of neighborliness: 
To help one another as best as one can in daily

acts of living, for if the lamp were put out, unlit, 
Someone passing by might stumble or slide,

Fall into the neighborhood well and die. 
I will stop, draw and drink the living water,

Thank the neighbor for this abiding light.


Translated from Binisayà by Marjorie Evasco.