“Contemplation VIII”
My star?
Where would it be...
the one that watches over me,
the one I dream on,
the one that fastens my locks behind my ear
like a whisper
dropped by hurried kisses?
From the deepest center of the sky
a ray of light
slips from a nest of lies as if to
comfort an old ache...
there were those words--cold words in the
wake of accidental carresses.
With every beat of my heart my soul
stretches
like the spreading diaphanous shadow
of a spirit that dreams,
and forgives.
Through the clattering branches
a winter moon caught in the trees
watches me.
She is full of longing, and without sleep.
“Your light is brilliant, like the
white arctic plains
and your halo,
a ring of ice like circles of sadness
outward and still,
your sigh is heavy and thick.”
Was it too much love upon your unforgiving breast?
That you could die
like the hope of a man of clay;
Wondrous moon, intrepid moon star--
I will free you from your
mist of longing
and see you rise
pale and winsome once more.
Float above the trees, my dear,
and leave with me, your veil of spun frost.
My hands hold a thousand words or more of love and
rust;
and my eyes the tears of many you will destroy.