The beauty I sensed is that verve of yours
that makes me see the world for what it is:
a vantage point, a quay, a place
from which we spy and plot, then depart
to return again to what we think ourselves.
See this world: See ourselves! Glory and vanity;
beauty and horror; wisdom and folly;
creation, destruction; stillness and frenzy;
hope and panic; fullness and void;
loving and lust; goodness and greed;
the beginning, the end of each and all.
Between intention and result,
dreams and their fulfillment, there lies this world
reflecting us who mirror it in turn –
this world of sweet and noisome tastes;
of perfumes and farts; of wine and piss.
And my poem for you was a cumbersome embrace
though I wished it the prelude to a kiss.
It was a rough hand at your breast
although it was to be my gently pressing
your head against my heart. But look!
You did not turn from that caress,
nor did you push my hand from your breast.
So we spoke, spied carefully, and plotted,
then departed from that vantage point,
that quay amidst the ocean of moments,
to return once more to what we think ourselves.
Through these nights and days that blind us
although they are our very selves,
the bird soaring to the heavens
fulfills the purpose of the wind.
So does the tree as it fondles
with a thousand hands
the breeze’s airy breasts.
* * *
(c) Gregory V Driscoll 2011