after Kotaro Takamura
Even the River Jordan must be skimmed with ice.
Inside, covered in my own white blanket, I lie
Wondering about last night’s play, how it might have felt
To be John the Baptist, guiding Christ into the river,
Or Salome, holding in her hands la tête coupée.
From the street echoes the clatter of wooden clogs.
Inside, I feel nature’s immensity turning in me,
Silent, like the orbit of constellations.
The sweet aroma of mocha
Spirits itself into the room; eyes suddenly open,
It all comes to me, like a precise equation,
Those harmonies and patterns that run
Through the lives we make ourselves.
Awake, my love!
And outside your house, the chirrup of birds.
By now you will have opened your dark eyes,
Arms stretching out like a child, smiling,
Dappled, beautiful, by sunlight.
And I am seized to tap out
With my fingers, on my
White blanket, love’s
And my heart and voice overflow with this sweet life.
The sky’s morning haze is gold-flecked, amber and blue.
And, from afar, the howl of an English pointer
Awakens something in me, a deep-seated
Animal hunger, a yearning
For my beloved, you.
And on the River Jordan, my spirit gnaws at the ice,
Exultant, breaking through.