Through the window the pinon with its precious nut each which must be picked and peeled by hand darkens in bloom, and the old dogs called in sleep, and the soft adobe cools by lamp to crimson and, too, darkens. I am in love and no one I know for a good thousand miles. What the hell, freedom to scale, nor anyone to call to. For months I have lived for the day I could reconcile my anger with my wish simply to start over as your lover. And now with my heart content as the ancient ocean, both figured into desert and alone, I release you as heat transforms the apricot and peach trees painted on the desert of the year I hurt, each beetle, centipede, black widow, what I am supposed to look out for, like the rattler, who contains my death more than any other I also love and more since to love is to love the most feared on this red earth, with its heaven dark blue like I imagine the mind because the body doesn't have to question day all night nor the invisible moon on whom I practice your face. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE LAST SUPPER by RAINER MARIA RILKE SONNET: 102 by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE THE MORAL WARFARE by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER SPRING'S UNFOLDING by IRENE ARCHER PSALM 56 by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE L'INDIFFERENT; WATTEAU; THE LOUVRE by KATHERINE HARRIS BRADLEY |