Treasure Island

Lara Biyuts

(26 July)

amative triptych

Like a grayish invisible cloud,
like unshed invisible rains,
the mist of your murdered desires
covers the Vanity Land,
all over.
From some grim, invisible heights,
the cloud oppresses your mind.
Resolutions in dust, you stultified vows-
like a grayish invisible cloud.
Will it shed rainwater some day?
From above.
But your soul is badly attached
to desires, killed long ago,
and the deadly captivity now
is like fetters, for body and mind,
worn by you as an act of penance,
like a grayish invisible cloud,
from above.

The sky brash in the pools-
past summer pieces underfoot.
A pen-and-ink overhead,
over the pearl and bluish amalgam.
Trees celebrate the widowhood by swaying
the orphaned branches, dancing to the sound
of music made by wind and saxophone.
Dead leaves shine brighter than inlay-
past summer pieces underfoot.
Stepping, as always, over them. And you?
Could you step over me? On the sly,
with a chill,
badly, sadly, the doubt
punches me
in the guts.

Morning. Two coffees. The empty apartment.
Empty. No air to breathe. The present “Without”
after the past and eternal “With You”.
The ecstasy-with-you
is always here.
Yours echoes mine.
It’s ours, deep in us, it stirs,
and every exaltation like the first.
We’ll never get accustomed to this wonder.
The salt over your skin. Unquenchable and hot,
I taste it, and the phantom of the feelings
and echo of the Words are soaring
around. Alone, I gulp the air of the past.
My coffee’s getting cool, and I am late.
Confound it.
Confound everything: I recollect.

Submitted: Sunday, November 24, 2013
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