Always there must be two.
Always two on one stem, budded rose
my hip, little dipper, bending to pick
a constellation of yet unopened treasures
these pre-bloom gifts for you
love, like life, can be so painful at times that it twists and turns and we yearn. it confuses and bends and stretches. it comes unexpected, it leaves if neglected, sometimes not. sometimes it thrives regardless, like the weed (which is just another name for a flower that some would say is 'unwanted'.) But whether we want to love or not, or to be in-love, we are stuck with it regardless and there is no getting around it. One can be like Penelope from the Odyssey, waiting for her lover hanging on to only hope where perhaps there is no sign of it for as long as twenty - an endless tableaux and a folly to a love that is perhaps impossible - or not. Who can say. What i do know for sure is that where there is love there will be happiness, there will be joy, and there will be grief.
late march, 9.42 a.m., 2008
Always there must be two.
It is waxing, not waning
the almost full strawberry moon - june
it fills drop by mercurial drop as i grow daily closer
I can feel the moonlit-hit of it.
In that moment everything changed and I knew
I am drawn to your southern border c
I keep to the broadstrokes.
The outline of the map now places me parallel to the Atlantic,
That mutable palate of blue gray green that connects my here to there.
By now my youth, my country, my rough chanel – my Europe.
I see that tide every day
Witness sky meeting sea on the horizon – a lover’s kiss.
I did I did not want just to see just once if I could
take in the taste of some other
shared forbidden fruit, honey Gideon.
I slaked my thirst with his pomegranate; drank of him freely
Thought of those dried pomegranates that hem the cassocks
How fast you spin that silk web
cocooning fast your solitude -
xylophanes titana , my dark butterfly
spinning, spinning, spinning,
Would you move me gentle, smooth?
Row us down the river past the lush-rush grassy banks
down the serpentine jewel, a floor of green that sparkles emerald in the sun.
Just we in the summer-thick in a polished, wooden rowboat.
I at midnight by the clock may creep into your bed , Yeats.
How slippery then these words:
Apricot - Etiquette
Apricot, abricot, mon abricot,
These moss-green eyes will always find a way
to take you in, take you in, take, you in.
Behind such dark, owl-like lenses I hide, never from you though: a façade falls heavy.
I always wondered when and where that first kiss would be:
Of course, I knew it would be you; you knew it too.
It came, unexpected, almost unwanted, on the beach at Southend ~
Wendy & Martin playing in the sand while I stood near the opening of the caves.
It was after that dream that it happened.
That dream of Israel and us –
you chased me around the chalky, high-walled alleys.
I heard the slip of your foot as it slid in its sandal
Are you not bored of the chase?
Love, I have grown weary of this fond chase, he writes.
Yes, weary, and yet I-you? would chase, chase, hide-seek,
hide-hide, seek-seek -
Before, there would have been nothing wrong with it.
you would have simply laughed and kissed that morning on the porch
and said, Quelle Reve or some such, Such dreams, cousin!
God, I am so tired of writing you, of wanting you.
It is boring even to me.
I am weary of the way you stitch in and out of my dreams,
wending your way down the chalked alleys of Israel, always that step ahead,
always calling my name, some game in which I am to pursue