Metatarsus
Find #15
Dome Bulfaro

     

You are reborn from a helium flower instead of a star, an unrestrained flash

out of your mother's black hole, you are clay unknown to me, a lathe shapes us

we feel our warm feet made of coins and magnets attracted without our knowing. First

we are ceramicked into black figures, then brought close to dawn: you are future, you are sponge

you are face, you are lip, you are fig, you are ocular, you are pupil, you are tunnel, you are embers, you are fakir

 

you are nerve, my brain, my memory, I am the bowing before the light that inspires

your thoughts, I am the priest, the Pythagoras who extends his tongue and tempera and

signs viscous numbers on your body's altar and with a snail's pace, bows to you

with prayers so that your spirit soars from all pores, transpires and inundates me

with that serenity that I drink decanted only at life's end

  

Trans. Christopher Arigo

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