El Campo

I passed those rickety fences late,
Past a dilapidated gate;
Alarmed partridges scuttle into undergrowth,
Inquisitive hares; ears pricked, pause and then sprint away;
The vast Patagonia; the end of another day.

The monotonous, endless, horizon,
Thick gorse, set ablaze in fiery array,
Tall grasses in evening light, cast golden,
Stunted forests strike a contrast, dark and unforgiving;
Past secrets and wild boar merge deep within.

Dust from the drought is powder dry,
White as talcum powder,
Dense, and overpowering, billowing up high;
Like an angry trail of smoke,
All enveloping, devouring, making me choke.

The night is now black in a moonless sky,
Dark fields that pass me by,
Once again a child lost in a forbidding wood,
Stumbling half blind as if in a dream;
I curse the dirty windscreen.

Stopping at a gate that bars my path.
I wonder if I have strayed onto a stranger’s land,
The cool night air engulfs me, reassuring my senses at last:
I inhale the sweet smells of herbs; medicinal, primordial,
The great Pachmama, primitive and yet eternal.

Limitless galaxies stretch infinitely above,
The watchful stars of the Milky Way
Untarnished, steadfast love.
Out here in this immense harsh wilderness;
I am lost, though glad to be alive; no less.