we've spent our nights in dark communion,
hands lingering on warm words,
whispering in black and blue commas.
tears for a room and being
both carved of Oz and Mother Goose
(in free verse)
tears for a mystical sign-off
panting 'i care'
too damn proiud -
and i, too damn rock-headed
wanting to clutch and shake
each his own - meet
in medias res
one multi-hand never taught one unheld.
tell me a whisper of aidings
encounter my inwardness as new
to mold and chisel -
a surprise of trying in blacks and purple.
(October 10,1965)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem