Where I came from
we called the West wind,
called it by name.
It blew when we sang,
It ceased when we whispered.
Our fires rose in delicate, hungry sheets
and silenced themselves to cherry-pitted coals,
for nothing defied us.
Even the light bent my way,
muted, tangled...rustic,
though nothing tasted much,
but the wine and herbs-
it was enough.
My green eyes may turn blue-black,
making love in complete darkness,
fulfilling shocks of silence
witness no ravages,
save these few
I bear with pride.
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