Diane di Prima
Her stone grey eyes like liquid mercury
While light from blue waters rippled over her face
She raised her hand in which a peony trembled
And smiled––a tear sparked silent as a star
I took the flower & turned in my heavy cloak.
Still heat in the lowlands; there is thunder among the clouds
A cicada shrieks from the palmetto, stirring the surface of the inlet
Though a piercing intent dwells in my stormy heart (solar plexus)
This poem resembles thunder without lightning.
Like a bird hidden in the white throat of a lily
I sleep with my hips in the sand, among bright stones
No wind stirs even the lowest oat grass
But from the sea the night horn of a passing boat
Carries me in the dark to the jade door of a star.
Work that appears on the KR web site is from The Kenyon Review and all applicable copyright restrictions apply.