Modern Love Lxix Poem by Liberatore Suffoletta

To lie in heaven's grass,
one must ask the atheist sun
to grace you with its warmth.
To covet the mountain peak,
admire slopes, angular lean stone
jutting into green-handled branches,
you must pray to the bare rock
to reveal its fissioned secrets.
The tao to the top winds down,
pregnant with side trips,
rain clouds often tip their gray
wetness onto the path.
not always bright as a full moon—
nor often as black as a solar eclipse-
there is always one way to go
both in darkness and in light

The map opens and unfolds
on a vast lint-flecked floor.
Inlets circle harbors,
a maze of waterways,
hidden like yesterday.
Beyond an osprey nests
on bleached gray poles
poking into twilight,
waves sing to the smile
of a plumb ginger moon.
Further on, choppy surf
rotates sailboats chained
to an ocean's vast prison
shadow of a dock
drops into a bay.
A lone heron stands
at the edge of history.
Blue water forever waves
wearing white bonnets
seagulls dig for dinner
among silvery blue eyes,
flashing then scattering
pinpricks of dancing light
wings of angels chanting
Alleluia! Al-le-lu-ia!
A poet tips back onto
a soft cushion of sand,
lies into a sun so hot
it travels like a breath
to gills of wet wrasse,
to sparkle on kelp
and nourish coral
as dolphins leap about
with sly smiles, dining
on schools of groupers.

The poet writes to a new love:
Blue here, knowing no reason,
shadows you, like a shepherd
until you notice. Blue is the door
to the infinite ceiling of earth,
beyond the blue door.
blue sneaks out
dressing in white clouds,
looking in the mirror often,
a teenager.
Blue doesn't weep for long,
Dark cloud eyes move often
to the next joy or sadness
all falls from the blue sky,
leaving behind, the blue door,
the blue of your voice,
the blue touch of your hand,
the blue wind of your breath
the blue rose of forgetfulness.
in the mouths of sparrows
and hawks