Playing the Indian Card

Saturday, March 05, 2016

Vaneza, with Eyes Open

Hanri Rousseau, "Le Reve," detail

There are moments in every love perhaps,
But certainly in my love of you
When I look in my love's eyes and know
With a heart-stopping blow as from tubas on parade
That I am married to a kind of perfection.

And I am owned by what I once imagined I possessed,
And I would die to be your sycophant down shivering gates of dawn
To a still remembered garden
Where we walk hand in hand, adamant-naked,
Spelling vegetables.

I see it when your eyes grow tender wild
And your smile sideways slow
And your movements dancing calm
And your voice pitches low
And I feel rippling water in my soul, dancing soul
Springing four ways to the winds in every joy.
Something deep, fostering orchards;
Feeding placid lions with eyes too wide for tears.

-- Stephen K. Roney

No comments: