Sunday, June 25, 2006

Meaning and Misplacement

"love on me - this love,
love on me, this love, love
..."


Oh, Godhead,
what can I possibly say?

Sit down close to me,
I know—
it is so beautiful,
so severe.
Mi scusi, il mio tesoro,
I cavalli
selvaggi
non potrebbero
trascinarme lontano.

It begins in the light of
a high-winded chiesa, stirs
in the grasses beyond
the plain— I cavalli
selvaggi
non potrebbero
trascinarme lontano.

A moment, a moment, a
winter
explosion:
we feel it beneath
the creases of
our shirts that cling
like
there
has never been
so much at stake.

And it is marvel
that smoothes the lines
on our
palms— it fastens
them together like
seed to soil.

Stand amid these defenses
and you will see it: the fire
that rises
from my breath.

Four hours or so
from
the storm: a coupé,
secure, mind race,
and l'umore
vigore terrestre.

Italian— the only
suitable
'sure thing'.
Oh, oh,
and intention...
how in the hell are you
supposed to leave?

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