ECHO IN THE PALM

 






               ECHO IN THE PALM

                "Peccavimus; but rave not thus!
                and let a Sabbath song
                go up to God so solemnly
                the dead may feel no wrong!"
                (E.A. Poe)

Remember, my friend, the tender time of warm captivity?
All that the sea storm wrought upon us?

How cypresses, laurels, and verbenas waited for rain,
pines, cherries, olives, almonds, and dry vines...

Approaching closely, they swallowed excitement like waves...
Suffocated at the bottom of wild, blooming gardens...

The knock of hearts in unison –  a metronome for shared singing,
and the tilt of a head –  a continuation of song without words.

Remember the whisper of waves? Remember how their half-asleep spell
conjured oblivion in the throes of our game?

Century after century passes like waves under murmuring depths...
So, in closed eye sockets, other worlds are made.

Only if you close your eyes, perhaps you’ll sleep and see
that space above the waves of past time, where

there’s all you love and all you still hate...
and all you keep in your soul forever and everywhere.

Do you hear the eternal nocturne, to which stars once swayed
in dance, reflected on the Black Sea’s dark water?

In the galactic scroll –  an emerald tablet’s spiral.
Your nocturne: "Nevermore." My refrain: "Forever and Everywhere."

Our singing –  at the center of the Great Magic Circle.
In it, the oval of the black bay mirrored lights.

Strands of wet hair, chin, eye sockets, and lips
approached with whispers... but their look foretold storm.

So, back to square one, the tempest returned –  not the wind...
The echo of memory still beats in our temples in unison.

Before the very end, fading, it still shines –
what was with you... So it’s not a phantom dream.

Let’s recall this nocturne: this quiet singing –  an echo...
This echo in the palm: I only added the words:

"You live... you’re alive... you live where we weep and laugh,
before it’s heard, my head is full too."