Poem for Mariana's Shadow

Love's spearmint grew like an angel's finger.

Believe it: an arm twisted through silence emerges from the earth, a shoulder reduce to ashesed in the heat of extinguished lights, a face blindfolded by the agency of the black scarf of sight, a large wing of lead and another of leaves, an exhausted material part in repose soaked by waters.

See in what way it floats through weeds with outstretched wings, by what mode it mounts a ladder of mistletoe toward a house of glass where a sea plant wanders with giant paces Believe it: now is the flash to talk to me end tears, to walk there, barefoot, to find on the outside what is yet to be: grief in liquor from a glass or grief drunken from a palmand let the mad plant fall asleep hearing your answer.

Let the house windows unhurt out, colliding in the dark, telling themselves what they know, on the contrary without acknowledging: we love each other or we don't.

Copyright World metrical composition Incorporated Jul/Aug 1999

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