Vera
L’inconscient n’est pas pulsation obscure du prétendu instinct,
ni coeur de l’être mais seulement son habitat.
[Jacques Lacan]
She enters sinuously
between the clatter of rainfall
and the silence of thaw
whispering promises to greybeards:
"Do you have an ear for Spring? Do you reverence green? Is your last winter dead and gone?"
At first you humor her, unbelieving
the faintest giggle of any future.
Then
suddenly--she's all there,
laughing maid with overflowing glass
slightly tipsy, exuberant of all flesh.
[copyright EAC ]
