Poem to the memory of a sea wall: Cuando me vi en tus ojos.

The sprite in your eyes, confined sea

Batavian button hole of embracing void.

When I transfigure into the darkness

of your iris,

you say my raven eyes aren’t so black, 

yet my brisk lips 

mean a risk of mysteries to timely paled ears.

I flowed through green grass 

of low lands forever yours.

Lured fingers lingered in the sun rays

held tightly, trapped in the tender of your hair.

You flowed through a collage of roads, 

stories, revolutions, gasps, whispers and tears

assembled 

over a shade of sun kissed skin,

far gaze, full hips, sable mane and waist,

like your fingers, forever mine

now hostage in this web of memories

           

                    cold 

of rain 

of lips fastened

of riveted shapes

of nervous hands

of overflowing

                                

                    scalding

two tones welded in musical rythm 

pleating into each other

finally and for once 

threatening

to the power of vigorous winds,

to the immutability of ancient windmills, 

and the quietude of that sea

held prisoner between pathways and landscapes

which you called “fake rivers”...