Sunny Gazebo

                         To my friend Janice Lynn

Blooming and weeping
my willowiest friend glows
with awesome golden curls
dancing in counterpoint
to answer each flowered branch
from this wooden warm gazebo.
Terminus appears to end winter,
spring bursts from grounds to trees,
while the coastal seashore prepares
another intricate maze of amenities
to welcome and cure cities' stress.
Sounding, spreading, Cronus diverges
its infinite cycles of personal qualities
showing us only a peculiar tiny part 
of the never understood eternal bliss.
By the sunny shades of my writing hand
remembering who caressed it so long ago
I think: "yes, it is great to stand by the sea,
it is there; and it is right there for us to see 
that there's nothing more, is just the way it is".
Guillermo Silveira

Gazebo Soleado

Floreciendo y llorando mi sauce amigo 
brilla intensamente enrulado de oros 
impresionante baila cotradanzas 
para contestar en cada rama florecido 
a la cálida glorieta de madera. 
Término aparece, finaliza el invierno, 
suelta explosivos argumentos arbolados, 
mientras la costa prepara otro laberinto 
intrincado de amenidades para dar su bienvenida 
y curar la grave tensión de las ciudades. 
Sonoro, separándose, Cronus bifurca 
sus ciclos infinitos de calidades personales 
que nos demuestran solamente una parte 
avara, minúscula, y muy peculiar, 
de la dicha eterna incomprensible. 
Por las cortinas soleadas de la memoria 
la mano que esto escribe recuerda
quiénes la acariciaron; y pienso: 
"sí, grande es hacer una pausa frente al mar, 
está allí; correcto, y allí vemos que no hay nada más, 
nada más que aquello que es per se".
Guillermo Silveira

Like That Susan Beverly MLA 2005


He stuck his hands, 

his long fingers

down inside the body

of the piano to puck

the strings, to jingle 

bells on them, to 

bring sounds and noises 

up from the depths, 

up from the bottom

of the instrument.

Strings, strings--

The piano, I suddenly recall,

is a stringed instrument

and so am I.

I remember this sensation--

your clean, white hands,

long, immaculate fingers

reaching in and then up

deep inside me to places

I'd never felt fingered before.

Gasping to know what

it was you were touching,

the orange chakra deep

inside me, within me, so close to,

against my warm womb.

You evoked a music, a cry,

from my neck and mouth

the way no one ever had

and I succumbed to the

moan of life sucking life in-

to itself, the way only the

symphony, an ocean,

sleep, or death, can do.