Poems 1997-2001

Se Mai Ritorna


Ingrid de May

Orfeo son io, che d'Euridice i passi...

Only once, one single shoreline walking,
Your sole hand speaking sought its pause in mine.
Barely held — a mute creature, paw resting,
Hungers not with material design;
By nose, least articulate of senses,
She seeks the limb and fabric of our world.
Of knowing then, now, of other tenses
I reweave harmonies I fear unfurled.

Thought needs no language, language is not thought
— Erde zu Erde, Aschen zu Aschen —
Address only living voices, for nought
Will be the audit of buried passion.

Prolepsis then; some novel hand in mine
May lead Orfeo and his fate divine.

©2001 David Clark