...dedicated to Hart Crane (1899-1932)
As I dream the sounds of morning sliver,
cut my senses; slow, persistent slices
pierce my eyes to ragged wakefulness.
The muffled cries of merchant hustle and
the honking of the traffic, the noises of
a summer's day displace my reveries.
I wake, and through my window I see
barges in the harbor, bustling like
beetles, scuttling over busy waters,
dragging ships with overflowing cargoes
safe to rest - the dock hands primed
and ready to disgorge the merchandise,
as sunshine washes monoliths of steel
and glass in dazzling refinement - Manhattan
like a mass of golden bars, smoldering and tall.
Steam and smoke engulf a vibrant scene
encompassing, then drifting into nothingness,
the sky a blazing blue, the docks a maze
of rarified activity as yelling fills the air.
Beams irradiate my garret - drafts of bright
and humid air like punches in the stomach
take the breath out of my lungs and leave me
gasping. I sit and watch you sleeping on the bed.
You stretch atop the covers like a vision,
your legs and arms a picture in repose;
I do not dare to wake you from your dreams,
your limbs splayed like a strumpet, you expose
your naked form, my touch will flutter your desire.
your body 'wrapped in mine,
our souls a living sacrament
to love and joy divine.
I enter you and all the stars explode,
fulfillment is our quest,
our shining testament.
As evening gently falls the windows glimmer,
the city glistens now from altered light;
the glowing falters as the sun dips slowly,
dying in the West, makes way for night.
Activity's still rife, but in my garret,
I reach for you as darkness settles soft,
I hold you in my arms, forever blessed,
while stars are quietly dancing up aloft.
Copyright © Keith Bickerstaffe