By Mojave (email:mohave7@hotmail.com)
Date: 28 February 2000
Adagio: Floating
Adagio: Floating
Andrea,
I cannot speak Italian,
but the waves rise like liquid
blue clay
and then fall.
I cannot speak to them
in their own language.
Up and then down--
longing for nothing.
Up and then down--
wanting everything.
With eyes that are open
halfway
I can see your shoreline
and its hills--
brown in summer--
your town, the sea birds,
all life;
the sound
of old fishermen speaking
with squinting eyes.
I cannot apologize.
Andrea,
for whom do you gather shells
now where the water meets
your hands
to caress them?
Your hair--
how long?
The bells, the bells--
do you go to Mass
and walk through streets
where there are no shadows?
Tasting salt water
on my lips,
I experience you now, here--
the scent of flowers
and mystery,
an impossible softness.
I experience one who
pulls me even here, now--
like the moon
draws the rising sea.
There is no returning for me.
Here,
the current will guide me even
without my asking it to.
Are you too
under a sky without a moon
and every
cloud gone?
I see no God where there were
stars;
no sun
to warm that kingdom.
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