Love Poem to a Stranger in the Park

Bark, the vein of the rain, rubbing
On soft cloth, velcro streaks of the arms, touching
Thinly the air by the whisps of thin hair, auburn
To diamond black scratches of lead, sprigs of white, the blight
Of the mossed by jacketed green. Where eyes? Off in the semaphore distance
Of a plain and highwayed turf of cars, shooting to the far
Beaming sunlight or the azure delight of the shivering background
In trees, in softness of rustling leaves, and then the embrace
Of endless space.

Or the cities, the towers, elevators tall, and the ups and downs
Of carpeted halls, dirt-packed, close, inscrutable deserts
Of soundless tread, the horizontally flashing head
Of the copier, paper and the pounding of leaden ink, all while the wink
Of a Friday night.

Would you dance by the twinkling lights
Of the saffron cape of stars (more cars) and the fright
Of bodies hanging from the railing like geldings of tulips and lilies
In stew-thicket swamps? Embraced, plucked, for a shining moment
Of sweet-nard, sweat-necked and bared chest
By the broad sigh of a stranger's breast;

Or still like the girl (stolen and steeled) lying naked, cold
By the bath-towel robe of voluptuous beds, the reds
Of artificially plucked roses in bouquets of radamanthine
Twisting glass? This too will pass, know

That roses wilt (Ronsard), but here in the shuddering breeze
Even the falling of a flash-culled, silk textured red turned to brown
Feeds in the urgings of bark, barks that raise up
To wild oceans of sky, azure peaks rushing to tips of the sun.