Like the throat of a clown, or the wrist
Of an Angel. The experience
Was immediate and illuminated.
At your street they suddenly left me
And I felt my heart running,
Dissolving as
if
a child
Were crying inside, crying all through,
A darkling with desire turning
Into lions and yellow-colored zoos.
May
Swenson
SKETCH FOR A LANDSCAPE
a clearing her forehead Brisk
wilderness of hair
retreats from the smooth dancing ground
now savage drums are silent In caves
of shade twin jaguars couch
flicking their tails in restless dream Awake
they leap in unison Asleep they sink
like embers Sloping swards her cheekbones
graduate to a natural throne Two lambs
her nostrils curled back to back Follow
the shallow hollow to her lip-points
stung blossoms or bruised fruits Her
lower lip an opulent orchard Her spiral smile
a sweet oasis both hot and cool
soft in center swollen a bole of moss
hiding white stones and a moist spring
where lives a snake so beautiful and shy His
undulant hole is kept a slippery secret A cleft
between the cliff-edge and her mouth we drop
to the shouldered foothills down the neck's
obelisk and rest In the valley's scoop
velvet meadowland
