Narrow, crooked streets with midday dust;
Cold canyons amid tall buildings,
Walls and cool shade,
Christian, Muslim, Jew—
And a lizard, here, by my side.
In an open square, she basks in the sun:
Face up, foot up (?),
Hair alive like strands of living sunlight,
Eyes closed—mine open:
Now I can look,
Look at my lizard,
Without the shock of her eyes
Lowering my gaze.
A sculptor’s eye traces her nose,
Her lips, her chin, her neck,
Her brows like a line of bushes
Across a smooth, sandy beach;
My desire like waves lapping on her skin.
The sculptor’s hand falls, defeated,
He flushes with raw, wild desire—
Her eyes open, as if aware of some change,
Some change that makes her smile:
A shy, devastating,
Sideways smile that knows its effect
Its firestorm qualities:
End of me
End of tranquillity.
I can not look at my lizard.
Not fully, not ever,
The shock of her eyes too great
The swell of my love too much.