What do pure, waterless people look like? Do they too soak life once over in lemonade soda? I've never learned.
In boyhood there was Martha, golden hair streaked with black,
she'd come winding like a creeper through Santa Del Priscilla's door, carrying two white ruellias in her hands.
She'd say, give thanks to God for yet another morning's gift.
I would only stare, wanting to become those two white ruellias;
silently I'd say, O God, make me divisible into those two ruellias,
only then will I offer you my prayers!
God did not claim a share in His own son's flowers.
One day walking along the railway tracks,
in the tall grass a young girl secretly arranges life's unnoticed joys one by one,
smears hemlock on her lips then dips her face in honeycomb;
winter morning says, Girl, you must step into dew with understanding!
Laughing, I let my feet float on air, found my path by firefly light
and returned to Santa Del Priscilla!
Today a flood of maroon light has summoned Priscilla.
Father Finch said, it's been thirty-four days since anyone watered the ruellias,
so this is when you return!
Yet I wished today for neon lights to blaze in Priscilla,
today for Martha to spend some time reading Love-at-Arms,
for those two ruellias to become God, just today!
The Nile called out, Remember when Queen Lostris kissed Taita in Sparta?
Foolish boy, do you want to be Taita then?
I said, Have you read Bibhutibhushan?
Have you seen the evening-lamp love of Jitu and Malati at Vishnu's temple?
Larry used to say, Loving Josephine, again and again I'd return to the willow grove!
People canceled in non-existence, I know; still
this stubborn desire to be happy weaving dreams in the sky.
I never wrote to you—bleeding hearts have bloomed in the garden!
O Nile, at Santa Del Priscilla
I only wanted to become those two ruellias.