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Monday, September 10, 2007

Proliferant

At the same time
You are sugar and salt
On this confused tongue of mine

That kisses ligaments, steering by
The star of the wristbone,
Meandering through veins and
A light thatch of lines

With their infinite dramas,
Written on the page
Of your ecstatic body.

You are a spacious lawn.
With finite hiding places,
Brooks and streams that lead
To secret gardens,

At once sunshine,
At once the rain
That cools heated
Travellers.

My hands cup
The proliferant rain.
It empties itself into open spaces,
A single, transparent question.

Where am I?
Senses lost in
A labyrinth of scent,
I am lost in your story.

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