THE GATE

Excerpt LI

Oh, our bitter ephemerality, he said, our natural objection,

                beauty

without arguments, alone, orphan, only with blood.

The fine hollow in the neck of a woman’s

rosy nipple tightened before the touch.

Moment, cry, schism; the unquestioned I exist.

Wait, let me get the grass off your hair. Don’t lock

the bath door, I like to hear the water flowing on your body,

flowing with your body in my eyes, flowing in the great

river with the sailboats loaded with oranges. 

             Two oranges

fell in the water; you’re the swimmer who raises them

             with your hands like two suns

sinking vertically inside me. Your straw sandals are

             wet

and dry up steaming in the sunshine that comes in

             from the glass door.

The dice are cast in silence.

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