Poems, Uncategorized

Not Yet Tasted


To My Love/Yet to Be Tasted

This street—ours—gray, blockaded with scaffold,
It is our street today.
Out the close bistro window
white candle, pewter stand, sandy joug of water

Edinburgh—ours to visit and to possess concurrent
Life and candle together
Juliet balcony and chimney pot

International needs, wants, clashing
Crashing as waves against seagull trying to soar
And dive for fish. Pushed real body under wave
Thank god for greasy feathers

As yet untasted in cloudy reverie
You have made love to me in the wind
And lifted me.

Every doorway I see is blue on our street
They say, “wait,” you will see.

Our windows hold vigil
Until you and I hold hands
We and the iron fence rails
Dirty and awaiting the juicy rain.

It is all new—the auld city and we.
Brazen and willful,
never giving in, yet within us already,
not to be guarded against
believed or taken.

Why do I want to give you this city—because I’ve loved it
as I’ve loved you?

Because old friends must shake hands and agree over their love
That a force of nature must fly free
Above the slate roofs

Or because you and the city have captured me,
Each in your own way…
You, my loyalty and the city, my body.
Je t’embrace toute le famillie

Dessert comes to my oak table
The ripe summer fruits and cream bring a
flash of rainwater of fields and tears.

Never assume I am without you,
though I wait.
I call you up, like a memory and a curse
a prayer, a conjuring.

Our street is unnoticed by many but
Beneath them all, the corpses watch and
rattle their bony knuckles against the cobble
Impatient of our dawdling “life” interferences
They scream and claw for blood.

Their very lifelessness demands we act.
There is not much time,
The fulfillment of our alchemy must be soon.
The fruits are ripe, the clock has struck
All else is wasting time, when time is us, not yet tasted.

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