Wednesday, July 26, 2006

Where is the Wild

where is the wild
duck of my youth, the pivoting
of wings against a growing
sky (my eyes holding art-
ificial petals of a rose
too near
diffuse formations of
a wishbone V)

where is the youth of chimera
seas, the flow of my first
hungry dreams (delerium
of bare-footed night came darkly
then as rain)

where is the dog of my first
dawning, the shivering light
of my flesh --
where is the first mouth of my lover,
the snow of my first
blizzard heart?

Victor Borsa

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