I am questioning myself - as curious
as is the child becoming adolescent
who is no expert in how bodies work -
asking what various games or non-games
take place in the intimacy of these I see
totally nude on the sand of the shore
between a cliff that hides them and the sea
which accepts everything in wave on wave.
Lying there in the relish of sunburning
the most occult parts of themselves there are
two young men and a girl intermingled.
One of the youths lean back against the body
of the other youth who extends his back and legs
far enough to let bend and hang above them,
drooping its fresh breasts and head of hair,
the feminine body associate with their two.
But no sign of excitement in the males
whose sex reposes, rather droops distended
in indifferent serenity that seems
the mere void absence of the mystery
which gave bodies a fervor, hot and human.
Are they, like gods, animals without rut?
Or humans who accept themselves like animals?
Whose is she? One of them only? the two?
Will one of them be hers but also the other's?
Will each of the tree belong to the other two?
Will each male be the female of the other?
Or just one of them? Which of the two? The one who
sits and leans back? The one who lying down
accepts against his own the leaned-back body?
The three are very beautiful, and not only
with that audacity of the youth of sculpture
coded in hard curves of gentle lines,
but equally by the limpid purity
which only around the sex darkens a little.
Whoever questions himself as I now question
confesses clearly that there really is a
long way between the by-gone and this present
laid out so in the sun at water's edge
as these three are lying or leaning back
without, even with hands, touching the sex,
let alone of another, even their own.