How can the sun shine so, and freeze us still?
In my body there’s an unearthly chill
& I think of a woman
and wonder why gargantuan love
must dwell alone…
Why the pink-bloomed tree is never touched once
by hands alike, & then I think
each soul must go on alone,
drop leaves or rain or words as its destiny;
& there are children hungry, crying, abandoned somwhere,
& there is unique beauty stifled once again,
& there is ignorance & unfettered chaos reigning supreme
In the broken deserts of faith, and in the “powerful” minds.
And there are starry storms whose planets I would someday know,
When this darkness is conquered, & there is perfect love
I go to where she smiles & touches my cheek & I kiss her hand
& she makes her love and mine one.
But garish symphony aplomb yielding, carrying me aways
across desert streams & years & robust mountains
painting masterpieces of godlust colorsent telegraphs to the
Where she of the mountains and glades ate trees & colored
the skies & bathed in hidden streams rippling with cosmiclight
and fountaining the waterways; for her, love was an earthly
consummation of fiery flesh, swarming in the alive cosmos
w/ passions Titanic, swollen by supernovae, saying
Staruvpoem! Speak! Here are your jewels, for Eternity to reap!
Of their alchemized sorrow say, she of the snowy cities
(lusting for love & pleasure & warm nights)
Drinking the wines of Old Bohemia, filling her veins
with their blood–enough for a cosmopolitan brood–
where not often enough the sun-dappled brooks run
Underneath a shining arm of the galaxy,
here, where she may smile…
Astral crossings of the dynastic wise,
when will my silvery soul meet your eyes?
In love & chaos evermore do we ride, or is there a reprieve
this time? Colloquial bane of disintegrated unions, who calls
love out, here is Nature’s lone call and fearsome night! Let us grant
Ourselves the soulful revolt that gains the needed epochal quarry!
Cosmic appendage of love-ghosts making us aware,
Teach us to disbelieve and re-learn in these Dark Ages again;
& we will share such stories as to make the planets sing!
The Music of the Spheres all we hear, at last to remake love.
I’ll press this flower in a book for her
I’ll pour some tea and set a place for her
And think well of her, even though she may
Not think the same. Pink blooms on the tree,
even in winter & all this lifeshine in the chill
i wear in the blue-canopied air,
chopped by a shrill engine.
I press this dying bloom in a favorite book for her, for the aeons,
For love entire filling up time; this bloom I enfold is talisman to
rooted beings & feathered ones, & lonely lusting, haunted ones
As well! I stroke the lovestrings, where in this time, this life, this hour,
I’m more enamored of existence than ever.