La Isla Del Encanto
La Isla del Encanto
(El Poema del Linda)
There was no Elizabethan
Changing of eyes
On the Isle of Enchantment;
No sudden moment of charm or bewilderment.
Rather, came a delicate awakening
Like soft dawn rising over groves
Redolent of plantain and nectar.
The Linden tree calls her
Soft and tender
So too a neo-Latin name for
Beauty
As she was
Ever
Native to islands
Born from sea spray
A soft mystery to be read,
Explored, and never concluded...
And now I see it
So absolutely like
The shawl settled
Across her shoulders
Lifting in the breeze
Ushered in by grace.
As such,
She wandered to my bed where
Passion can burn in one candescent night.
But where love
Is a different calendar.
Not precise and never numbered...
Indeed, ahead unfold
A concatenation of days
Accruing as a mausoleum of memory
Where gentle spirits lay forever
Eschewing sleep in favor
Of allowing auras to seep into
And inform
The ever-expanding present,
Of an interlocking reverie.
Slow growth,
delicate and steady...
Becoming more entwined
The moment fingers locked
And we ascend towards bloom.
A lattice made from mutual mistakes
Holds up, defiant ---
Lends skeletal strength
While mapping the body of
One ardent dream.
And what soft lumen roused me
From my torpid slumber
Waking me to lilt of sea-song?
Aurora's nascent dactyls
Inched up horizon line
Ascending like aspiring wisps of hope
Spreading warmth unnoticed
Until, by zenith
All shall be bright and clear
Where we share a common tongue
But speak a deeper language
Not private, but privileged.
Granted only those who move
Beyond number and word
To caress contradiction
Embrace the ineffable
Partake of the fabulous Dane's
Mystic leap of faith.
If this be the reward to come
In learning from the past
Then let me, please
Mistake no more...
Copyright © R. H. White | Year Posted 2019
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