This handsome season high with light and song,
Women wading along in high heels
Beside the shining river…
The spring sun makes us langorous and lustful,
Sniffing the flesh-musk with canine glee,
Licking the least trace of sex.
And time takes its time:
It has nowhere particular to go,
It is what it is, and counts itself happy.
A vision of beauty in the street
Can hurt me for days and weeks,
Bleeding into everything I do.
Is there no anaesthesis
For anamnesis?
We write poems on one another’s skin.
A palimpsest of kisses,
A golden mosaic.
What terrible power trembles in us
To ravage and annihilate this world and ourselves
Or exalt Creation to the highest joy
And fruition, singing the heart divine…
Dread dangers oppress us
Only to charge us with duties,
To cherish ourselves and the whole,
And pray us not to fail.
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