City IIThey sat watching neonAnd amber of streetlamps Til climbing, they left it The city whose purpose Was only to give them The joy of this moment Which stretched on to evenings And years still to savour This joy in existing. They entered, she smiled At the sight of his body, And later she touched him With fingers still frozen, And stiff still with winter. He seized her and kissed them The fingers whose purpose Had been the creation Of something as perfect As he could inspire. © 1997 Bonnie Letitia King |
Dedication no. 2 (The Ukrainian Cemetery)Once I stood upon some sacred hill,And naked, felt the cool and living wind That made my pale limbs shudder, then be still, Caressd my ankles, kissd my softened lips. 'These sleeping souls,' I thought, 'sense no such breath, And cannot know they sleep, nor feel repose, No judgement rouses from the wasted death That living in this pillar's shadow brought.' And laughing at that monolith which stood Behind you, blindly, arms upstretched to God, A silent sentinel--thorns, nails, and wood-- I fell with your fond kisses to the earth. 'Nor I, who lives without it, shall awake, We, too, shall reach our ends, we, too, shall die Your precious youthful body soon will break The memory of this night too soon will fade...' Yet thoughts that are by such sad broodings fed Will drive me all the more to lay this night Beneath the moon, above the senseless dead-- To act--thus, counteract our finity. © 1997 Bonnie Letitia King |