9

Through lane it lay—through bramble—
Through clearing and through wood—
Banditti often passed us
Upon the lonely road.

The wolf came peering curious—
The owl looked puzzled down—
The serpent’s satin figure
Glid stealthily along—

The tempests touched our garments—
The lightning’s poinards gleamed—
Fierce from the Crag above us
The hungry Vulture screamed—

The satyr’s fingers beckoned—
The valley murmured “Come”—
These were the mates—
This was the road
Those children fluttered home.

We were fugitives tonight.
Fugitives
of light;
The blink of a window
drawing naught but dusk.
We grind against fate,
crossed our fingers and flew
from what we are, were-- might be.
Closed the peak whole
lest it should dawn
and glid doomed,
to some place nice.

Let me walk on your shoreline
So endless and beautiful
Full of temptations
I promised not to go too deep
Into your ocean

Fascinated by your depth and beauty
I watched as your tides glid past my ankles
Caressed me with your soft waves
And held me ever so gently
As you lured me into your ocean

Took one last glimpse at the glistening stars
Feeling so helpless
I let the unknown win
As I sunk deep into your vastness
And let you consume me

do not sport an emblem, i implore you,
may you even -
mark it in latin:
   however the grammar
shifts: wether
from left to right...
i have no currency on
the matter of states...
      there is no:
         causa est signum:
if the attire fathoms
   the depths of the dead
marking;
i am glad, if marks the least,
and i am,
the lustful father willing
his remnant son
to remain, bound to a justified
norm, of what little life has to offer,
and what muchness, a woman
always carves into man,
cheapened by a tattoo
man relegates himself to
           in order to compensate;
i ask you only to have
my words: as you might hold my whip...
and tell the difference
between grit and grip,
   to never smooth over the rough,
and never make
the rough: the glid - ever "bewildered"
by a lake...
      ensure the lake
remains an artefact less examined,
bound to the mythology of a settled
sun, rather than a sun-set,
overcoming the chance reflection,
and with over-coming mirror anticipation:
the lost preserver of reminiscent dues.
guide away from this conclusion,
as read, as readied, as reasoned with,
as revealing, self-evidently resembled:
thus conjured into a continuum;
performed once,
over many years performed a second,
a third, a fourth time...
countless it would seem by the fifth:
thus, perfected.

The struggling fish flopped about, needlessly,
As the starved hawk cawed in distance near.
Slapping its ugly flesh down repeatedly,
Drumming funeral songs on bespeckled pier.

The bucking trout stopped breathing,
Unconsciously consumed by dismal fear.
As its respiration grew more measly,
The hawk’s path twinkled crystal clear.

Above the sea, the hawk glid greedily
As the wind’s whipping arms flailed ceaselessly
Above the sea, the trout stared beadily
As the sea’s mouth foamed and fizzled tearfully.

The belly of the bird, how it churned so needily
And the belly of the fish, how it tore so easily.

By Constantino

I went to the bar
And looked for your face,
I searched through the crowd
That vast empty space,
My ears quite be-numbed
By the rock and the noise;
In search of a man
In a place full of boys.

Many eyes caught mine,
But had nothing to show.
Several lips sought mine,
I politely said "no".
And my poor ear did hear
Of the pleasure I'd find,
A Pleasure belayed
By your face in my mind.

And my mind, how it raced
Across that blue sea,
To the mist of that morn  
When our need to be free,
Brought the moment we shared,
The swell of our tide,
Two souls intertwined,
Like the veil of a bride.

Like a sloop with its sails,
Billowed full at the seams,
We glid, on the sun,
Like two souls full of dreams.
Pitched and tossed in the night,
Like two ships in a storm,
But content to be held
In the warmth of our arms.

And I said to my self,
As I stood in that place,
How foolish, am I,
To hope for you face,
That is sepered by miles
So distant in time,
That I left, quite alone,
With your heart holding mine.

First the eagle glid low overhead.
Then the farm cat, lame and tabby,
limped from bumper to dumpster,
while we smoked
and whined about our day.