GOD

I reach out with my barbaric hands above the ebony night
in search of God... And at my mast-heads I break out
silence. And I guide wing-borne hurricanes.
And I even bite the fruit of your two nubile breasts
to finds in their swelling nipples, God
marvelously transformed into clear honey.
I would touch him even in the timid caress
of children hanging like lavish apples
upon their mother-trees. And even in the pale
alcohol-flame of your dead gaze. And even in the lamp
that revealed to me your twin naiad thighs
on that Christinas Eve of the first new vines.
And even in the archangelical linen-
dawn of your death I would seek him, and in the tremolo
of an endless evening with transparent rainbows
and paschal lambs of improbable locks
and golden swallows and angelus belltowers.
Even in the soft clouds of a shining autumn
that makes us weep, we do not know why... Lawns
of impalpable beryl have dropped from a poplar.
A thousand crickets are clinking in unison their tiny cymbals,
and a firefiy lights its double candle.

I am at peace. I drift upon moist cotton,
while God swoons sweetly upon my eyelids.