Rootless

Even this dawn sidesteps us.
Morning Star shines briefly,
a solitary eye
in the maroon dome overhead.
As white day unfolds petals
on our sleeping bodies,
night’s kisses succumb to arteries
of this wasteland, drop by bloody drop.
The portentous sun
locked in an orbit of fire,
is merely some truth willing to shine
on our terminal rock weighed down
by too many generations shedding blood.

We have no roots,
hovering on a surface of oil stains,
retreating glaciers, car cemeteries,
on turnpikes underpinning existence.
We make love in a land foreclosed,
a cavern of pines whose foreign branches
vault over transient encounters.

Lover’s passions are bypassed
by organum calculating genes,
ovules and spermatozoa,
as a clepsydra measures drops of water
in its double-bellied crystal prison.
Where is the instant
that should have been reborn,
the eternal rebound of lovers’ whispers?

A ray of light traced
a golden medal on your breast.
I sensed your exultation,
as if all sorrows in our lives
had concentrated in that tiny circle.
Outside its circumference,
our hearts soared up to a cleistogamic world
not among men.
Let others remain rootless,
let them contemplate dying cycles of Nature,
crops that nobody will harvest,
whilst I kiss your teasing lips.