Darkness once again thickens throughout the sky:
This darkness, like light's mysterious sister.
She who has loved me always,
Whose face I have yet to see,
Like that woman
Is this darkness, deepening, closing in upon a February sky.
A certain vanished city comes to mind,
In my heart wake outlines of some gray palace in that city.
on shores of the Indian ocean
or the Mediterranean
or the banks of the Sea of Tyre,
Not today, but once there was a city,
And a palace-
A palace lavishly furnished:
Persian carpets, Kashmiri shawls, flawless pearls and coral from waters
round Bahrain.
My lost heart, dead eyes, faded dream desires
And you, woman-
All these once filled that world.
There was orange sunlight,
Cockatoos and pigeons,
Dense, shady mahogany foliage.
There was orange sunlight,
Much orange-colored sunlight,
And you were there.
For how many hundreds of centuries I have not seen the beauty of your
face,
Have not searched.
The February darkness brings with it this tale of a seashore,
Sorrowful lines of fantasy domes and arches,
Fragrance of invisible pears,
Countless deer and lion parchments, graying,
Stained glass rainbows rippling over drapes-
A fleeting glow from
Room through anteroom to further inner room.
Momentary awe and wonder.
Sweat of ruddy sun, smeared on curtains, carpets,
Watermelon wine in red glasses!
Your naked lonely hand
Your naked lonely hand.
