Confession

The Heart's Talk

The universe swayed with me, as in the reeling of drunkenness,
the hour my heart “went mad” in a single beat —
and what meaning remains to this heart, on the day
the years wear it down and it grows old?
And is the pleasure of living found in barren, desolate toil:
no eye losing itself in the heaven of another eye,
no breaths pouring hot into breaths,
no heart blazing within its ribs...
with longing for a heart!?

•

I am in the flood of memories — memories
of a love eternally fresh.
As today, in my desire...
my elbow takes shelter at the neck, a flaring up of longing,
and on the drooping of lashes the scorch of “burning,”
defying time and place,
in a seclusion sufficient unto itself...

•

What do I want, what do I want?
The circling of fingers about the waist,
the whisper of two lips in confession,
a leaning against a head — and no head is like it!
And that he know with certainty that the meaning of life
— all its meaning —
is a breathing in his shadow, a quickening at the tone of his voice
rising warm from a calm, deep stillness..
Then an ecstasy of love storms through my being,
“the grace of life is love” — I say:

•

Have I asked, do you think, too much!?
How can I be content with less,
when with my glowing, blazing dreams
I must come home to the frost of my world!?