White Star

Painting by Alberto Vargas


WHITE STAR

She is the man's assistant.
Reaches in gently,
settles there deeply.
The hearts lie side by side, nurturing.
The house of loving is calm.
The woman's starlight kissing
dispels his weary aggravation.
His troubled round and round.
She is the satellite that death
rides up to and sails away.
Their souls exactly
of the same thrilling advance.
The woman's language is
the terrible beautiful new,
as it lowers into the violet floor.
The color he seeks.
The chrome he longs for.
When the faces are pressed together
she cries into his shouting world.
He lets the mountain range she is
run over him. Does not hinder her.
But loves her. The continuous spirit,
the thoughtfulness. An intelligence
that values sacred feeling.
The intimate human is not beyond them.
They drink milk,
and eat with their fingers.
Lie in the music singing.
Whisper inside themselves to each other.
What is it that allows the moon
to come down and enter us.
Its dream light pouring fuel
into the body's blue engine.
How the poet stands now on his land,
so much more
within the woman's arms.

Barry Tagrin

Posted over on Hellenic International Studies in the Arts