Without fingers of ecstatic women

What kind of a man would
Lives in words, marking them down as religion
As if life were a thing

You could inscribe, encode, digitize
A woman cannot be turned into art
She’s creation itself
There’s no binary to her

She’s magic, her care and womb
Loathes what is not real
Maybe that is why women despise poets
They don’t have time to become

Attached to a dreamer, their unborn children
Urge them to find less wild men
And besides, what atonement is there

In a life of unread poems?
I think I used to wash myself in that river
And I used to travel those landscapes
Maybe I was too poor to really travel

Maybe I was too cowardly
To find a woman I could stare into
And know all the beauty of this planet
I am nearly resigned to growing old

Alone with poems, like some familiar signal
Of my squandered youth, of literature
Being used to be my illegitimate cover
My design to escape from reality.

Story of Nature

The birds kept singing that
The birds had once seen
Flying saucers, though we
Didn’t understand their songs?

Octopi would once inherit
The Earth, after we had passed
It all seemed improbable

But nature had a way of making
Melancholy dreams a reality
If the stars that move together
In some sort of order

Could fly like birds across
The skies, then men could die
Like they had always done

To make way for ocean creatures
Reptiles, intelligent squirrels
Evolution had a way of mocking
Those animals that went extinct

With new varieties, it didn’t matter
That men thought they were special
Or that men were the creators

Of their own ruin, women didn’t
Exist anymore to empathize with them
Men did it to themselves and left
Life to nature’s own wisdom
In truth, the way it had always been.

Link: http://ocean.si.edu/blog/so-you-think-youre-smarter-cephalopod

An Ancient Mayan Poem

I

The successive suns of summers
swim in me like a balcony of heat
I glow with the sol of sols

the pine cone of lava that
makes my cheeks full, white
the sun-drop of diamonds
have petrified in my heart
and I am creation rushing down

ii

On all that is below, these stars
know me and I among them
we are like water in water

ocean creatures of great adventure
vertigoes of light, layers of softness
suns of paradise, legends of golden noons
revolutions of princely sunspots
cliff of mortality, planets revolving

iii

Around a center, galaxies revolving
around a black-hole that was once
a great sun, time has pink candle-like veins

but she knows the sun, the sparkling rocks
the matter and energy of our destinies
caught up in a seabed of lights
the successive suns of summers
swim in me like an ode to sun-religions

iv

but I am here, drinking sun-wine
in the surreal view of full eyes
with a body of silver for the kaleidoscope

and a naked face dismantled by another eclipse
another wonder, another design of day.

Multiplicity

I’ve known a river of bodies
Like a downpour of stars
And creative suns conjuring

The destiny of so many little ones
I’ve seen reptiles come out of oceans
And lovers come and go
I am the creation of what I see
The eye that watches another season

Is it really any different from the last?
I’ve known faces, a few thousand
Their water of truth, their truth of water

And music like songs, so many songs
And storms as thunder, lightning, rain
The sound of the rain was a multitude
Of rain drops kissing the earth
And pollen that is caressed by the wind

And flowers, so many flowers
All the colors of the known universe
Do other planets have flowers like these?

And other sentient beings, do their eyes
Cry in the drumbeat of time, the silent hum?
I’ve opened you and I’ve been beaten by you
And life, naked in my mind explores
An unlacing, a spreading, reproducing the ripples.

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AGNES CECILE
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