Saturday, January 3, 2015


                         “Tell me more quickly what I lost by this....”

                                                                (William Empson)

In endless undressed summer
we kissed with the same lips,
shared the same secret,
slept in the self-same dream:

The cream and music of her skin
is an aria in heat, coloring and flushing,
blushing and cooling, turning burnished
copper in the sun.

In immeasurable tryst she sweats
& glistens like a harlot at full gallop,
twisting and arching, murmuring and squirming,
burning luminous through the night....

Who numbers how long a while it lasted--
how many suns & moons, how many comets and eclipses,
how many solstices:

It is an opera of two characters in search
of welded flesh, with spacious entr'acte
in equatorial Africa, horned and prickly,
voracious in hunger & lioness' bloody lipstick....

How long was the desert night and cold sand,
with rattlers and scorpions under darting feet,
dancing the self-same gypsum in one intoxicating beat:

It is the ballet in which the ballerina first discovers hips,
snaking locomotively under the severest, gravest star,
animating a sandpainting diagrammatic with hourglass hours...

Does anyone know when winter came, when music fell
frozen to the snow?

Which physicists, which mathematicians name the cosmos
where self-same twice-born near invisible smile persists
through burning eyes of ice?

E. A. Costa 3 January, 2015 Granada, Nicaragua

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