The Sea’s Flesh
In a few short days it will be autumn in Virginia,
when hunters, the gaze of the rain,
the tree that won’t forget,
lambs of terrifying aspect,
all return to their native soil,
in a few short days it will be autumn in Virginia.
Bodies twining tightly together,
lips pressed hard against the most intimate key,
What would he say, made of the skin of a shipwrecked sailor,
pain behind closed doors,
pain opposite pain,
with no hope for love?
Look — love comes and goes:
Love comes and goes,
without giving any charitable alms to the mutilated clouds,
to the torn clothes of the earth, and it knows nothing, it will
never know any more than nothing.
Useless now to stroke your hand along the face of autumn.
Art: Emma Florence Harrison, The Wind