(Sestina)
by Nate Simpson
Engraving in mind memories of you, rote
in fervour, potent, drunk with illicit dreams:
red rose petal bed, damp dark earth, giving sun
rays painted our disrobed bodies honey gold; light,
long lasting, from a sun that never set. You
of my soul, a second visit, you eclipse
my reality. (What was it you first wrote
on my heart?) Through the miasma I saw you,
flickering, at the boundary. Simply a dream’s
teasing or summer’s cruel trickery in light?
You gave me your body before your name: sun
striking pink diamond, penetrating heat. Sun
building your bridge; my tongue, the anchor, face eclipsing
the equator. From yellow sun to white moon light
your bridge creased and fell. I pinned diamond and throat,
your fingers carved the Earth. Night spent living dreams;
a surrender to satyric thirst. Yet you
withheld your name, only telling me that you
came from the land of ice, red snow and distant sun.
Beside stone hearth lit with fire, you sought sweet dreams:
green grass, warm breath and Earth under hand. Eclipsed
by corset canon, Mother’s strict rote,
you sought a different life, a new light.
Through driving snow you ran, bonds broken, light
and free. At the edge of the world I saw you,
tears frozen, skin pale blue-white. On the wind, I rode
to break your fall, lift you closer to the sun.
Tears melted, bodies yielded; as one we eclipsed
Earth, beneath. Eyes to the sun, your wisps of dreams
now realized. Chrisom tears kiss new dreams
and fears; receding darkness, greater light.
Forget, now, what’s done. As with the solar eclipse,
darkness is submissive. Free of Mother’s cincture, you
opened your body, full with song. Turning to the sun
you whispered one word, etched into my heart by rote.
Your name is Natasza. You put light to dreams,
brilliant as the sun, but eclipsed by time,
you faded; ghostly, faceless, remembered only by rote.
