SHE DOES NOT SING FOR YOU
- To Donne who yearned to heare,
- Yeats who pursued,
- And Eliot who was right...
- SHE DOES NOT SING FOR YOU
- Glittering, curving, unknown
- to sky, land and flame,
- she pauses in her confident progress
- through her realm and circles you curiously.
- The water between you
- heats as she turns, her hair haloes
- around her lovely calm face,
- dancing against your cheek as
- she looks into your eyes
- and comes to some conclusion.
- A slight turning of a sleek shoulder,
- an indolent muscling of her tail and
- she is gone.
- Your yearning is unimpressive,
- your predicament immaterial.
- She is seeking more than you offer.
- And you saw no way to enter her
- mysterious body, have no way to remain
- in her world, although the undersea
- beguiles, and you long to plunge into
- her warm center.
- Loins, lungs, heart shout counter commands-
- Leave. Follow her.
- Go back where you came from, trudge heavily
- on the mundane ground, fill your chest
- with fumes and dust, still yearning,
- still questioning, but knowing now
- she soars and spirals here, jubilant,
- garlanded in flowers of the tealgreen sea,
- holding no memory of you.
- Or, you may die, here, in the backwash
- of her indifference.
- She did not give you her secrets,
- did not breathe for you, open to you,
- smooth away your pain,
- envelop you in beauty,
- call you by your name.
- Vain, cold, soulless killer of good men –
- the bitch will pay.