Touching In Winter
I can't touch you.
The ribs of winter
Come into focus at
The striated window,
Against which I lean My forehead to be able To scribble your vanishing Name over and over.
Yes, it is over, and has Been over for years. Your white belly a ghost, Your red hair the fire
In the grate, and ice Hanging from the eaves Syllables that never became A sentence of persuasion.
So now I touch the scars, just under my eyes, in this city full of dead memorials, Where I can't touch you.
December 2009, Washington DC
My Poems
... link (no comments) ... comment
Radhika Whispers To The Sea
O Sea,
Turning colorless with the night,
Wearing coral at your neck,
Leaving so many frothy Kisses on the cooling black Sand, agitating the sails
Of boats pivoting to harbor, Whole lit cities witness to Your shameless love making,
Take this message to the far Shore for me: "Radhika wears Jasmine in her coiled hair and
around her white wrists, waiting for You, O Dark One, to shame this shameless sea, just for this night."
2009-11-06, Puerto Vallarta, Mexico
My Poems
... link (no comments) ... comment
Next Meeting
Amor mi mosse, che mi fa parlare - Dante, Canto II, Inferno
Beatrice, your sorrow is like the blue light Before sunset. You are as wounded now As I was leaving your veranda of farewell.
You envy their worldliness, the nights they Have lived in distant provinces of the empire, Drinking with the natives by the sea.
But who is to say our provincial childhoods Were less beautiful, yours practicing the klavier Scales, and mine in the butterfly's shade?
This homesickness for the other, where Does it begin? And why do we value The familiar comfort of a quite room
So little? What answer to your question What would have been the content Of our fates hadn't the path forked?
We say to ourselves this stranger will Lead us back to paradise that we have lost. We say tomorrow there will be another
Fragrant night at the end of this night Of lovemaking. We say few more cities are Required to grow into our strange skins.
We say we will chose wisely next, and Will try to love that lover a little more. All the while forgetting too much of where
The heart had been as it leaps over the chasm That is every morning. It is morning again. So farewell till we meet by Charon's boat
Carrying for scuffed coins our battered hearts.
My Poems
... link (no comments) ... comment