By Michael San Filippo
I was told she had the answers, but I had no questions.
I, like you, always knew what I wanted.
The moonlight hit her dull as dust,
Gray like a vault,
But you it strikes silver
Spin me to a stop amid the traffic and the crowds
On the parkway tonight, arm entwined with mine,
Golden petals spilling from the circumference of your hat,
Heavy eyes, nectar lips,
A satin breast pressed into my ribs.
The weight of the moon has kept me from
The Parthenon and the Louvre and 100-story skyscrapers.
I've missed my boat, I've missed my train,
But you are the clinking chains of the anchor lifting, and not the anchor.
You are the whistle and pant of an engine beyond the hills.
Walk with me across the fields, to the falls.
Swim with me in the green pools.
In this town no one doesn't know us,
But across the fields only I will know
The flesh of your shoulders rising above the water,
The surface pulling at your silver skin,
Your curls pressed straight and smooth against your scalp,
Now laced with the grass and clover on the bank,
The water from your arms dripping down my back like honey,
Your eyes and mouth open to mine.
Walk with me barefoot beyond the hills, to the sunrise,
Through the sunrise and the next silver night.