But now I walk on, alone. And only after watching many evenings, Do I dance a bit with dying wisps of moon-light, To persuade myself that I am young.
Blinder than oak-trees in the wind Endlessly weaving sighs into a poem To sight, He sits, the light of one pale purple lantern Seeping into his dream-hollowed face, Like floating, transparent words Pale with unuttered meanings. He mends a flute and sighs as though Its shadow leaned heavily upon his heart And told him things his dead eyes could not grasp.
You seemed a caryatid melting Into the wind-blown, dark blue temple of the sky. But you bent down as I came closer, breaking the image. When I passed, you raised your head And blew the little feather of a smile upon me. I caught it on open lips and blew it back. And in that moment we loved, Although you stood still waiting for your lover, And I walked on to my love.
Like a drowsy, rain-browned saint, You squat, and sometimes your voice In which the wind takes no part, Is like mists of music wedding each other. A drunken, odor-laced peddler is the morning wind. He brings you golden-scarfed cities Whose voices are swirls of bells burdened with summer; And maidens whose hearts are galloping princes. And you raise your branches to the sky, With a whisper that holds the smile you cannot shape.
The lilies sag with rain-drops: Their petals hold fire that does not break out. (As though it slept between vapor-silk It could not burn). And a young breeze stumbles upon the lilies And strokes them with his spinning hands.... The lilies and the young breeze are not unlike Your silence and the rush of soft words breaking it.
I came upon a maiden Blowing rose petals in the air And catching them, as they fell, Upon quick fingertips Her laugh fell lighter than the petals And dropped little gestures upon my forehead. I gave her sadness and she blew it up As she had blown the rose petals: And it almost seemed joy as her fingers caught it. But I was only a wanderer plaited with dust, Who gave her new petals to play with.
You were in the room, yet your body Was stone cut in drooping lines And hued with decorous puzzling pinks and browns. Even your hair seemed an elfin wig Carelessly thrown upon your stone head. And your eyes were hollows cradling broken shadows. When you spoke your body did not change: It was as though a flock of sleepy birds Had issued from your stone mouth.