Movements (not for static visions)

I

Once more, or maybe always, wandering -
this caste of grapes and waves, of glows
and wind, between dream and poems
that stretch beyond sight;

Yes, those poems; sometimes winged,
and then, sometimes, lying down and
trickling ambiguities onto beds of crystal –
somewhere, between a river and silk;

Or my breasts, denuded of your hand
that dresses longings, somewhere upon
misty horizons cut in blue of eyes
and silences with the colour of my skin.

II

I’m not actually going away, for I couldn’t
depart from where I haven’t arrived yet -
but I wander, with hips already at a gallop
and lips in bloom for honey yet to be made –

Leaving foam and twirls of sea on the back
of horses and curved lines of distant shores
and distant poems;

III

Yes, those poems; beyond dunes
and within gardens, or orchards,
where you will harvest me, later -  

Ripe, and still, or maybe always, wandering
with poems of you and of that caste, between
dream and glow, that wanders in the wind
and in your departure to my arrival –

Wet, warm, and smelling of grass,
of that grass of the meadows where
the gallop lies down with the sun;

IV

Yes; and then, maybe unfathomable, we’ll simply
move on, untied like dream and boundless like time
or the immaculate voluptuousness of making love
and breathing –

And caring less than the wind or the grapes
ripening if these movements wander beyond
static visions…

-- © 2008 Alexandra* ~ OneLight*®