are your feet tired
baby
from all that running
in my mind
she says
that seductive smile
slightly parted lips
the hint of a tongue
lying in wait
all this
her eyes say
and heaven too
only seconds
from now
hear my knock
again that smile
now open the door
other writing
from a line by Li Shang-yin: on the shore of the world
here
on the shore
of the world
one looks back
with clear eyes
at once was
at how little
has changed
oh how brief
the ice melts
in the glass
of Black Bush
and my mind
like the ice
dissolves
into memories
of shared bottles
of old friends
of time past
and oh how brief
ice lasts
in a glass
a variation on Mei Yao-ch’en for Qiaoen traveling in China: this little boat
this little boat
out to sea
and you
sitting on a cushion
on the deck
your almost naked body
basking in the sun
a hand cupping breast
your uplifted face
open to the light
awaits the morning
Qiaoen on the beach
she stands
at water’s edge
gentle waves
lap her feet
there is no breeze
to disturb
her long hair
which hangs straight
down to her waist
islands dot
the horizon
no boat
or other person
in sight
she gazes back
those eyes a question
on her solemn face
there she is
Qiaoen on the beach
toward the east: for Qiaoen
the scent of jasmine
hangs in the air
the cup of tea
grows cold on the desk
a lone dog
howls in the dark
the clock on the wall
ticks away the night
and my mind
turns toward the east
five long hours away
where the morning sun
shines high in the sky
and this planet earth
is graced by her smile
nightly ritual: for Giaoen
she sinks slowly
into bath water
soap caressing
her arms her legs
her breasts
pat dry before
the creams the lotions
her hands gliding over
her skin like silk
white body against
blue satin
as she lies
to sleep
a sleep
of no regrets
in the middle
the muezzin’s call to prayer
on my left
the church bells tolling
on my right
and I in the middle
not where I started out
to be
blossoming dreams: for Vessy Gekova because she asked me to
the light
in her eyes
brings memories
of uncluttered blue skies
flying high
with blossoming dreams
of joy
the words
the words
so faint now
at three am
with a glass
or three
of Jameson
to add to the haze
that is memory
here there
somewhere
a voice fades
in out
and time
that old bandit
robs me
once again
of the words
Leonard Durso 