December 14, 2013 § 2 Comments
Nevertheless, you will love me
Stretched on that salty rock,
the white velvet of your soles
and nacre of your toenails, the thighs
resting by alabaster lips, curls of gold
cascading over intumescent curves, all this
fitted to my eye, conveyed by the beholder,
translated into beauty by my own
dictionary, and once done I wrote the grammar.
Madame Artiste, I am the bull you rode
naked last night at the happening,
the whole town stunned.
Unconscious you gave birth
to that gouache, the baby astronaut,
then signed to me,
the doctor from the bull’s constellation,
who permits your canvases
to spring to life.
Line up in my chambers of reflexion,
never feeling the grip of embrace.
Since you died your works live in my eye,
captive energy, beauty in chaos;
nevertheless, you will love me.
September 2, 2013 § Leave a comment
4th day in unrecognized countdown
I was running around like a fool,
urgently calling in
to get your potassium fixed,
as if that was the only threat.
My head glowing
in dreams of our diaries
of your anger in the morning,
your confused scolding me
for not bringing your shoes,
how you couldn’t go to opera
in a gown and barefoot after all.
I thought how one more time
I have failed you
forgot the reservations,
now sold out for the season.
Perhaps I could have
lent you my shoes and
you would have gotten the tickets,
you always finding a way, as our
daughter would say, comparing us.
Or perhaps I should have found
a way to stop the time,
shrink into that bed
delirious instead of you,
and let you go, let you go,
where did you go?
August 29, 2013 § Leave a comment
Some Conversations with My Soul
Tell me if I had fallen to pieces,
or this is the way to hang together.
Your bridging the five corners
strung me into your pentagram,
my breathing set in the center
like an abstraction.
When I close my eyes
you look me in the eye,
and we ponder the sweet
and bitter chase you put me through.
You are palpable in this search.
I feel your presence
in vibrating shadows,
aliquots of my life.
In early days of my solitude
my name echoed as a whisper off your lips.
And you are the past
while I still live this future
to the point where you will outlive me,
perched as figurehead on the boat’s bow,
as I cross the river,
my head tucked between your wings.
We talk my gravity into being.
Come and have siesta with me.