To speak in words unbefitting such an occasion (platinum birds flitter
freely from lush branch to hot red brick,
viewed through the soft diffusion of a pane of glass splashed upon a wall)
would be to capture in phrases pomp-grandiose,
a moment too fragmented to be circumscribed by my oft-enameled
theoretical marble.
Yes and yes once more; this moment, a drop of diamantine liquid,
brushed from the hot brow of a full world,
a crumb from a slice of warm raisin-bread,
savored on a sunday morning.
A moment made more full in warm anticipation of the setting sun,
of the nascent, impassioned sky,
and yes, dear,
of that bright fervor in the soft, blue opals of my traveling companion.
Meet me far from here–
in that ancient place
where the avian whirlwinds draw up their ranks,
and descend in flittering sapphire upon ripe, untouched plains–
and past this moment, smiling back over our shoulders,
we will craft our future footprints,
lay bare those worlds of sound and stone
presaged by alexandrian seers.
i release you now, free to flutter:
a torn, inked, half-painted manuscript,
awash with soul in distillation, tinted with a world reflected against
my (in me, through me)
deepest, darkest, warmest pools.
Mixed with melted butter and coffee grinds, and
dirt from the soil beneath the pavement.
And yes, dear, make exodus and recompense,
bear the lonely smile and sighing gratitude,
felt and heard within the five-walled marble towers of still,
gothic repose.
And make them vibrate and harmonize and echo
across the dunes, flow in puddles, crystalline and aural, and play across the vines,
heavy with breeze and saccharine glaze.
we ebb and flow with the orange starlight.
we weave a gauze of gossamer blue.
