Because of Aphrodite       ~      Reginald Gibbons    ~      2019

 

 

The sweeping force with which

anything could be thrown–

a javelin–or the

battering blows of hot

winds, and these gusts, too: rain,

desire, wildfire’s rushing

noise, and hard-falling stone-

cold night in lands of bone-

hard darkness and screaming

windstorms that freeze the blood.

 

 

But in our stillness, a

gnat’s wings buzz, strings of an

ancient lyre resound, soft

lights on the other side

of the bay at twilight

are trembling, and then we

see racing dolphins blow

as they surface only

for an instant, and an

eagle wings up from the

water toward our bluff and

past us just overhead

heavily beating air

with fierce soft pinions, we

hear three strokes and it’s gone,

and your eyes are pulsing

out the light of your in-

tensity, flashing from

some long dark rocky point.

 

 

A strong scent of wood smoke,

small bellows are blowing

the iron-melting flames to

a roar, you fan me, fan

yourself, then we are both

hurled like hot javelins.