A Reluctant Wanderer Above the Sea of Fog
"What is your favorite part of me?"
She commands. Smiling with a knowing might
With zealous eyes
Wide brown eyes that are my only light
Should I detail her hairs one by one and praise them?
No, not I!
I love how uncompounded things are to meant to loved
Subdued and in secret
Without knowing how, when, or from where
Her rivers, her borders, her eternity have become everything
Time, rain, and sand
With bitter certainty I love her because I know no other way
I despise how she has tied me to this purer emotion
With the ease of a swan drifting on shadows and silent waters
Lacking Neruda's grace
Helplessly and with empty air I utter
"Your lovely face"
1 comment:
I'm sorry that we didn't get to spend more time in class on this one, but the imagery in this poem is quite beautiful.
I look forward to hearing more from you, Richard!
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