Resurfacing Poem by Gregory Wm. Gunn

White doves and stormy petrels
light upon the living room walls,
in robust compatibility,
teaching odd wedded rituals,
my very close friend.


You take flight in gathering clouds
and perceive not the rings
around the gibbous moon,
and in your palms you trace
and count cardinal virtues.


Your song is vigourous, articulate
and clear, faint undertones
follow you, so heed them,
they are my black veins
serenading in the night.


I am nameless with no complexion;
trysting place and shaded cellar;
primrose path for dreams
and rookery.


Oh what a trenchant bed of livid leaves
Proserpina has accommodated
for my lying with you.


A dark horse charges along the foggy
coastline. I can hear its hooves
in the subterranean caves
striking the wellspring
of my blood at its very acute
axis with such flux of life.


Oh what harvest time! Whosoever could
have had this charm to transfer
me to the luscious, meandering
maidenhair beneath the sands
intricately blended with the salty
scent of driftwood?


From among the pallid seasons, fruition
and desolation and all these
retrospections, receive the latent
heart of earth, everything pleasurable
in the darkness unconditionally
released and presented unto you,
my trusted confidante.


The next dawn and I had resurfaced,
stretching for the light of the sun,
by noon my face had bloomed;
so come to recognise your own
splendid, witnessed guidance,
an entire enigma harnessed
in your auspicious hands,
my most cherished love of all.




rev.01/19/08