We thrive on our basic drive
to
show off our bounty,
Our booty, our body,
our
beauty
with strangers
strange no more.
Single moments of rapture
rupture
the everyday,
Singed singularities of meaning,
like songs,
Break through the distance.
The body,
naked
and unbound,
Shows boundless
capacity
for joy.
Unrepentant senses,
like
resplendent jewels,
Dazzle our distance to others.
Spoken words
are
only token,
incomplete and broken,
Images are more complete.
With munificent gesture,
arms
and breasts raised to the day,
She asks’ "Will the sun come
and play?
"Will death go away?"
But only the carousal of days
comes
to stay,
As it spins off accompaniment
and
merriment,
Our friend to the end,
when
our boundaries cease
And we belong again to everything
else.
What remains after death?
Our fancy for flight
takes
us
past all
ravines
and raptures,
To the darkroom
where
pictures are made.
We enter a birthroom,
a
humidor, a corridor,
We leave
as
troubadours.
We live
as
long as life will have us.
It trusts and thrusts us,
singing
and stinging,
Into the light of night and
day.