Page 42 - Litterateur March 2021
P. 42

Spring 2009, Update




                    The costly perfume of spring floats in behind winter,
                   that beautifully clad season of darkness and mystery

                      from which escape without longing is impossible.

                     The cold and its distance a simple warning the day

                    can never be tamed, or held, at least no more closely

                    than one holds air, or breakers at the rapid lip of the

                                                           sea.



                      Taking a breath of summer, it seems time to relive

                         star-crossed sorrow and elation, to rise above

                    the narrow soliloquies of youth, the inconsequential

                          petting and necking, the making of promises
                         we know we’ll never keep, but revel in making

                  because they are the first of many great lies we will tell.



                           Blessed are the memories, kind and unkind,

                        futile and fulfilled, muddied and clear, disputed

                         and acknowledged, as the wizard watching us

                  clarifies the opacity of the past. We let our ducts open,

                  allow tears to run freely in rivulets on softened cheeks.



                       The drum beat of hearts courses ahead, and we

                         hang on, sloths on jungle vines, breasts filling
                         with melancholy that love’s reach will be blind

                       to all but the changing skies we leave in the dust

                                 that smells, nevertheless, of spring.
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