Wednesday, February 16, 2005

High Inducement

by Zinta Aistars

"Love is at first not anything that means merging, giving over, and uniting with another... It is a high inducement to the individual to ripen, to become something in himself, to become world, to become world for himself for another's sake."
--Rainer Maria Rilke

There I seek: in the rich and the ripe,
plump with harvested wisdom – a seed,
heat of life and love
contained inside.
I seek: in the cool sea jade of your eyes,
there in the warmth
of your open palm, fingertip
tracing the kink and curl
of your finite lifeline.
The things one remembers:
your open lips soft over my open lips
as the length of you settles
against mine. Air blown sharp
between the edges of your teeth
at that moment of infinite sweet.
Love is like that: curve against
curve, angle inside angle,
yin to yang,
the mistaken turned pure.
Love is less and more,
attachment unfurling, release of the thread
broken, then another, another, still
another, until we hold
by gaze alone, by thought, by common
goal, by focus trained
on the same tiny point
on a farther horizon.
More: a simple swirl
of light circling, slow and sure,
beacon blinking, a guide
through storm and stillness alike,
the time-stopping moment
when you wake at dawn,
pale rimmed and flushed,
with but one thought, one only,
that of the way your name takes shape
on the curve of my honeyed lips.

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