One Dream

You are unaware I spy like this every morning, that I wake before you to watch your eyes tremble and awkwardly blossom. The casual remoteness of your body still startles me in the grainy light that lies between us. How your dreams must hold you, their amorous and fascinating figures:

the populations inside your vast cities, the quiet voices spinning kisses to keep you.

These must be, because you sleep and dream alone, you smile like a conspirator in a lovely game. Only your eyes are telling, their lids pressing out a Morse code at uncertain intervals, cautious even in sleep, speaking out of great distance, from a place neither of us will ever see. Everything is still as these movements spread out, outlining the yellow light, the quilt thrown back from our bodies, the soft weight of our limbs. Inside this silence, your breath is held tightly, and let go.


Our willow lets its limbs down almost to the water, almost so they brush the surface sheen, lightly, leaf-shadows the shape of perch, palm-sized, blue-black, finning themselves still near the shoreline; and when I touch my heel to the cool water and come in, you are there, as if always we have waited for this moment when we enter each other's outstretched arms, wade together to the center of the small pond which has become, now, somehow, as we drift together in the clear sky of water, as perfect as any world we could desire —

insects spin in the air, redwings loosen from the limbs of willows, flying in small flocks to nowhere and always returning —shy, miraculous acts of grace, wind rocking barely in the blue-black leaves —all of this, for hours, clear on the pond until, eyes closed, shaken in and out of the water's own arms, we sense these finally no longer, feeling only the pulse of the pond's deepest currents, fern and water-weeds sweeping our legs, the soft, prescient muds bearing us toward each other, then away;

so when, at last, we open our eyes and sunlight has slipped from the surface, the redwings vanished as minnows in the low leaf-shadow, we let ourselves, lazy with love, float beneath our willow once again, whose thin limbs seem always to have been waiting for this, reaching its tender arms down to us who are reaching up out of the last swirling light.

Notebook LEVEL ONE

1. Review the basic types of love poems that were excerpted in the beginning of this chapter. Relate each to your romantic life. For instance, is someone you love absent? If so, base an idea on the "absent love" model. Is there an obstacle preventing you from achieving love? If so, base an idea on the "obstacle" model. By now you should have designed a journal to suit your needs. Explore these ideas for love poems and conceive at least five of them.

2. Make a list of lovers, would-be lovers, pursuers or people you pursued. Under each name, make a "love list" of highs, lows and turning points concerning each of those relationships. Try to remember specific incidents, moments, complaints and occasions in which strong feelings or situations arose. Base at least five ideas for poems on your lists.

0 0

Post a comment