1247 Love poems

Of a girl, in white, between the lines, in the spaces where nothing is written. Her starched petticoats, giving him the slip. Loose lips, a telltale spot, where she was kissed, and told. Who would believe her, lying still between the sheets. The pillow cases, the dirty laundry laundered. Pillow talk-show on a leather couch, slips in and out of dreams. Without permission, slips out the door. A name adores a Freudian slip.

I there has never been sunlight for this love, like a crazed flower it buds in the dark, is at once a crown of thorns and a spring garland around the temples a fire, a wound, the bitterest of fruit, but a breeze as well, a source of water, your breath—a bite to the soul, your chest—a tree trunk in the current make me walk on the turbid waters, be the ax that breaks this lock, the dew that weeps from trees if I become mute kissing your thighs, it’s that my heart eagerly searches your flesh for a new dawn

XII once again I look out your window and the world looks oddly different, maybe the fields have blossomed, or perhaps more stars have been born delirious waves caress my feet, something new, unknown, sunsets whisper in my ear as well, everywhere I find your odor, your shape you are among old-growth pines, in the fog along the coastal rocks, around the most somber of afternoons impossible to wipe away your job from my eyes, from my sad mouth— you are the universe made flesh

How Love came in, I do not know, Whether by th’ eye, or eare, or no: Or whether with the soule it came (At first) infused with the same: Whether in part ‘tis here or there, Or, like the soule, whole every where: This troubles me: but as I well As any other, this can tell; That when from hence she does depart, The out-let then is from the heart.

For Claudio Guillén In the branches of the laurel tree I saw two dark doves One was the sun and one the moon Little neighbors I said where is my grave — In my tail said the sun On my throat said the moon And I who was walking with the land around my waist saw two snow eagles and a naked girl One was the other and the girl was none Little eagles I said where is my grave — In my tail said the sun On my throat said the moon In the branches of the laurel tree I saw two naked doves One was the other and both were none Translated from the Spanish

Oh fairest of the rural maids! Thy birth was in the forest shades; Green boughs, and glimpses of the sky, Were all that met thine infant eye. Thy sports, thy wanderings, when a child, Were even in the sylvan wild; And all the beauty of the place Is in thy heart and on thy face. The twilight of the trees and rocks Is in the light shade of thy locks; Thy step is as the wind, that weaves Its playful way among the leaves. Thine eyes are springs, in whose serene And silent waters heaven is seen; Their lashes are the herbs that look On their young figures in the brook. The forest depths, by foot unpressed, Are not more sinless than thy breast; The holy peace, that fills the air Of those calm solitudes, is there.

Oh, how the hand the lover ought to prize ’Bove any one peculiar grace! While he is dying for the eyes And doting on the lovely face, The unconsid’ring little knows How much he to this beauty owes. That, when the lover absent is, Informs him of his mistress’ heart; ’Tis that which gives him all his bliss When dear love-secrets ’twill impart: That plights the faith the maid bestows, And that confirms the tim’rous vows. ’Tis that betrays the tenderness Which the too bashful tongue denies; ’Tis that which does the heart confess, And spares the language of the eyes; ’Tis that which treasure gives so vast, Ev’n Iris ’twill to Damon give at last.

And slowly we’m sweethearts atween the wet grass all river-licked, lime dust in our hair and both of us so frightened, blind as moles. But wanting something. Wanting. We’m side-by-side on the grass, me barefeet in the water, bowing our heads, gentle as osses at the water trough. I can feel his shoulder ashiver and it makes me bold, makes me jumpy, so I hold out me ond till he takes it and kisses the palm like he’s eating sugar from it and we’m off ...

When my aunt died, my uncle raised his hands like a prophet in the Bible. “I've lost my girl,” he said, “I've lost my girl,” over and over, shaking his head. I didn't know what to say, where to look, my quiet uncle raising his voice to silence. My aunt was eighty-seven. “Listen,” my uncle said, sighing like a tree alone at night, “women know. Every midnight on New Year's Eve, when others sang and laughed and hugged, your aunt looked at me, tears in her eyes. Sixty years. She knew. One day, we'd kiss good-bye.”

In my heart the old love Struggled with the new, It was ghostly waking All night through. Dear things, kind things That my old love said, Ranged themselves reproachfully Round my bed. But I could not heed them, For I seemed to see Dark eyes of my new love Fixed on me. Old love, old love, How can I be true? Shall I be faithless to myself Or to you?