Monday, April 20, 2009

Poem: A Lover's Recourse (expenditure)

dépense / expenditure

In the courtyard, in the Temple of the Sacred Fountain,
a monk is scooping up dead pigeons from the fountain.

Sick of the void, they grew a body round the heart
after they had devised a garden round the fountain.

Mad to waste an hour in the mud of Florida
but suppose, just suppose, the old man finds the fountain?

Quiet evenings change the body to an aqueduct,
the phallus celebrating the stonework a fountain.

The reason a woman brings her buckets to a well
is the same reason lovers embrace by a fountain.

The sound of my poems may be compared to a well’s,
but I would like to think they glisten like a fountain.

The better-looking fountains are for playing in.
What are they called again, Jee? Oh yes, splash fountains.

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