South - Phillip Levine

[Larry Robinson]

South
 
In the cold, clear winter air
of Andalusia, I walked
a trail up through pig grass
toward a distant abandoned
farmhouse. No one could live here,
I said aloud, the land is baked clay,
the long summers are withering.
Yet someone did. The one wall
left intact bore the handprint
of a child, the fingers splayed
out to form half a message
in the lost language of childhood.
It said, “You won’t find me!”
Then the wind woke from its nesting
in the weeds and the tall grass
to blow the childish words away.
Almost noon, the distant sun
rode straight above us like a god
aware of everything and like
a god utterly silent. What
could ever grow from this ground
to feed anyone? And who bore
the mysterious child who spoke
in riddles? If we climbed 
the hill’s crest we’d find
a higher hill and then another
hill until we reached an ocean
or gave up and turned back
to where the land descends step
by slow step to bring us exactly
here, where we began, stunned
by raw sunlight yet in the dark.
 
              - Philip Levine
                                                


All the suffering in the world comes from seeking pleasure for oneself. All the happiness in the world comes from seeking happiness for others.
   - Shantideva