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Fourth Love Poem and Fourth Song of Despair


by Beate Sigriddaughter


Fourth Love Poem: Your Beautiful Eyes 

Foxes have a lot to say
if you listen. One
keeps reminding me how
down in the canyon
the river flows
not because it is loved,
but because it must.

The mere thought of river
reminds me of course of
those many years ago, how
your eyes, intense from rapids,
changed for me suddenly,
fierce and soft all at once,
like the first jolt of sunlight
piercing the already shimmering
edge of morning.

Though the river was
dangerous and gorgeous, I too
was suddenly
important in your world.

I was already in love when
that moment flooded me forever
with significance and hunger
for impossible completion. 

I had always imagined love
would look like that.

 

 

Fourth Song of Despair: Attention

It feels like a great blindness
has settled on the land.
I grope around and suspect
you notice me most unhappy.
You pay attention then.
When I am angry, though,
you really notice. It is a wonder
I am not raging all the time.

A tiny consolation:
how we take the sun for granted
too, and gravity. Nature is
indifferent. By nature. But you,
with you I dreamed of wandering
side by side, confirming
our exquisite place in this
maelstrom of molecules
in the whirling of stars.

I want my small exception
without having to remind you.
I want to rekindle
your eyes. It is wrong to be
listless and blind and hungry.

The time of the lioness has come.

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