Cassiopeia

A shooting star streaked,
cracking momentary brilliance
upon the new moon's canvas,
tattooing the black void
with its sole illumination.
The glowing, aphrodisiac aura
embraced emptiness, draping
vanilla and honeysuckle scents
on Cassiopeia's shivering
shoulders of silky alabaster.
Her bright eyes sparkled.
Cosmic winds seeded discovery,
eliciting an amused pleasure
acknowledged by her alluring
Mona Lisa mystery.
Only Adonis and Aphrodite witnessed
my brief, parking lot caress.
She planted an eternal garden
in the placid waters shimmering
from the forest of my heart.

Pound Said; I Said

Pound said:

ALBA

As cool as the pale wet leaves
of lily-of-the-valley
She lay beside me in the dawn.


I said:

MIG ÄLSKLING

Even without
money, I will always be
a wealthy man. My fortune:
all the memories
a lifetime can hold.
In the phosphorous moonlight,
Artemis supplants Selene
radiating the nights of Aquarius -
and the sea
washes to my shoreline
the most precious sea shells:
my unsurpassable fortune
will always be knowing you.


Pound said:

ALBA

from "Langue d'Oc"

When the nightengale to his mate
Sings day-long and night late
My love and I keep state
In bower,
In flower,
'Till the watchman on the tower
Cry:
"Up! Thou rascal, Rise,
I see the white
Light
And the night
Flies."


I said:

MIG ÄLSKLING

When the wild spirit of Pan
Plays his pipes in sacred élan,
My heart whispers beyond land's span-
A silent melody,
Of epic rhapsody,
In impassioned psalmody,
Wailing.
"Wild blood coursing
Through my heart
Impart!
Beyond all art
Delight!"

And the Constellations Winked Approval

Come
with me to the summit,
to the mountain peak.
View
the diffused sienna blaze engulfing
aspens quaking across a dozing valley.
Hear
violins weep at Beethoven’s command
as the shadowy fingers of dusk
clutch the landscape hushed
by the impressions of Van Gogh’s brush.
Breathe
in the rich, winter fragrance of pine
needles wafting on a gentle zephyr
the way a sonata’s legato movement
liltingly surrounds lovers in the night.
Taste
the dry, Serein River bite in a glass
of unblushing Chablis as it washes
the heart’s impassioned palate
with the honey of skittish enigma.
Feel
strong arms swallow you
in a protective and nurturing embrace,
warding off the cold, buffeting winds
that blanket the frozen, steppe wasteland.

I awaken
to an imagined spring
voice heavily accented.
She speaks
in the languages of every nation.
She leads
me into Paradise like Beatrice led Dante.
She whispers
to me in my dreams like Alba to Pound
as they lay together in the pre-dawn
dew anticipating first light.
She haunts
me from the four corners of the Earth
as Gongyla did Sappho through absence.
She leaves
the same longing within my soul
that Sappho felt for Anactoria and Atthis.

I would brave
the tribulations of Heracles
to witness one of her smiles,
gracing her countenance, to gaze upon me.

I would have walked
across the globe with Alexander,
not to conquer lands, accumulate booty
and subject people to the Great’s rule;
simply to hold her in my arms
in the moonlight, to feel her body
breathing against mine as my heart
would pound against hers,
and to kiss the rosy blush of her lips
between the gasped gaps of her radiance.

And the constellations winked approval.

Passion Spent Spills

Heated flesh radiates with a red aura:
rubbing up against attraction’s golden glow
in the still midnight hush, a fragrant flush
blushes urgency to flower petulantly
as the whitewater rapids of desire ply
curiosity with a provocative pretense.

Forms embody souls’ impressions
and curve-cuddle close like the lines
of fingerprints, they shadow dance
on momentary eternity’s wall –
illuminated by united bliss-brilliance
in separation’s dark desert of illusion.

The fresh scent of passion spent spills
upon quivering petals like dewdrops’
crystallized ambrosial nectar: innocence
yields like fading stars at sunrise – multitudes
burn into one radiant luminosity and blood
flows through the heart, condensing into spirit.