Viaggio, Gianni de Conno
This, too, was a dream:
the eyeless grasp of limbs
to the beckoning window frame
the alchemy of finding and
grounding the unexplored
our bellies like fluttering moths
our palms drunken with vision
your breath all over my shoulders
my teeth all over your spine
the crossing of
squares of solitude
the dancing of
lanterns on water
the . . . oh, but
i no longer know what to say
without betraying myself
whose poetries are these that
hover above this canyon of light?
i’ll leave my sighs
at the doorstep, my love
i’ll fall in love with you
just one gasp more
i am filled with arrows
not suffering, my love
but refuge
not blood
nor wound
nor scar, my love
but delivery
not . . . must i say more?
whose poetries are these?
let my voice rest inside
the coils of this insolent silence
but know this . . .
i cannot turn away from you
so many anchors leap from your eyes
i seek you inside the as yet unwitnessed
the ink glistens at the tip of the pen
the dream swims at the lip of desire
whose poetries…?
my mouth will never desert this page
