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Fabius Lind’s days are running out in blood.
Red serpents of failures empty his veins.
In his head—white muddy stains. Confusion.
And a heavy load on his heart.
He could have . . .
He could have . .…
I am the creeper, the wild one
Climbing your garden hedge,
Reaching, a red one, a wild one,
Up to your window ledge;
To inhale your dress’ rustling
As on your floor I lay,
To pale in the light of…
Burning kisses now are born
Within his heart for his chosen—
And, landing on red little lips,
Immediately are frozen.
Then a frisky little horse
Overturns the sleigh—
A snowy, stony canopy
Buries…
Words forsaken—fallen leaves,
Let the wind scatter you,
And let me forget you.
I will remain like a wintry tree
Behind closed eyes, still
And silent.
Both the night will cradle me, ay-lu,
And the…
Across from me in the subway sat the madonna
Crossing her legs,
Bending over a tabloid.
She read about a cashier-girl who jumped into the water
When her bridegroom left her with a rising belly.
The…
And if the night
In its blue cloak
Abandons wood and vale,
And softly cries
With tears of dew
And crystal shards,
Then tear my heart
Out of my breast
And wash it in the dew—
And with your lips
Suck…
Fabius Lind clings to the flowing mane
Of young spring,
Galloping on the free highways of desire.
Voluptuous desert-winds around him,
Voluptuous desert-winds inside him.
Fabius Lind surrenders to…
Bread and cheese and honey on a simple table.
The tea beckons golden
In two thin glasses.
Green, cool and fresh,
The water jug, veiled in dew.
On the edge a woman’s handkerchief.
Next to it, a…
I have my mother’s black hair and green eyes,
my father’s delicate thin hands
and blood that sings and flares,
blood of grandfathers—Jews along the Dnieper;
on my head, the many nights with friends
s…