legends with no gods – [the secret valley]

in the depths of this valley, the water runs, sometimes leaps over the stone.
they ride each other and become a singular entity that sings, surges
ejaculates, imbibes, then whispers, not entirely tame, a long and fluid caress.
the water’s mane then brushes the stone’s torso, both still warm
tiny bubbles of kiss bursting tiny wet suns and sprinkling rainbows
all over the firmness that is nonetheless flexible, because it pulses with life.
above this whole nudity, nothing but the wind, brief, and maybe a leaf or two
rippling the water skin as it ripples, in turn, the core of the stone.
one never knows when the water will leap over the stone again
in that cadence of wild lucidity which floods the valley with a scent of rosemary
and ripening fruits.

all houses have crumbled a long time ago, but… who cares about houses
when there are palaces in the whole air and in the sea, not far, and when
the gods retire to let the ones who made them in? - the ones who made them
and always will, as long as there is fire surging from the waves and there are waves
tearing, with their salty nipples, the air; as long as there are divine tongues of sun
curling around nights and moons upon dunes, perfect temples; and as long
as there are dolphins singing those secrets that the gods never knew but the horses
and bulls, who graze on the light even when it is dark, clearly do.

and I know and you know, in blended lips, what the gods merely dream in our dreams
and the dolphins, the bulls, the horses, understand and substantiate, in the depths
of this valley where they become and we become water that rides the stone
of the palace - close and within: the mysteries burning here, immortal and sacred
in the essence of this air.

and the whole body kisses, as it flows like water, the blazing stone – its soul; again.

© 2006 Alexandra* ~ OneLight*®