 Image by -RejiK via Flickr |
| I am a rose, my heart opens at Dawn |
 Image by -RejiK via Flickr |
| Sing Alongside the Waves, the Song of Love |
Dawn,
or, another Love Poem
by Adolph Caso
Turning into stone
its back pressed into the bed
the exhausted faun remains at rest position,
next to the naked woman
incomprehensible of the metamorphosis
before her eyes,
the rims of its heavy nostrils oscillating
to the rhythm of a pump
pushing life-giving air
which spreads throughout his body—
electric circuits completing themselves until
its hoofs turn into feet.
No thought to:
was there another road
or,
is there another road in my life,
or,
can I look for that
which I have not lost
and live in a world without reality
as I walk my daily and only road
of my existence?
Oh Proust and Frost,
how do you find
that which was not lost?
Pascoli’s rose
is no less vibrant or painful--
its petals no less laden
than my sister’s rose
whose perfumed membranes
continuously reach my own nostrils,
in real time
when shades of pink stream through
its pinkish petals filling my cells,
or when my soul needing reassurance
of who and what we were
confirm who and what we are,
never wishing
to have taken another road!
All but disappeared
except for the single stem
bending to passing breezes
its sharpened thorns--
tempered by the cold morning air--
they rip at my skin
like saw-grass serrating the walls
from within the heart.
Coagulated ringlets of blood
filling each point of entry
emit wisps of scented perfume
to their nostrils
and
to another awareness.
Her back again pressed into his arms
He extends his hand onto her breast:
“Where do we go from here?”
he asks, his voice subdued and uncertain.
“Nowhere!” she exclaims,
as she presses his hand
tighter around her breast.
~~~
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