Collecting bottles, tossing leftovers, taking out the garbage
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the masts of a giant ship fill the entire horizon.
we all stand astonished on the beach.
what thoughts are flowing into the land?
what immense suggestion is rising far out
yesterday, a flute player stood at the door of
the city; here, there was once a stadium that had
been long neglected where everyone who was unloved
gathered and worshipped a rose. The music of the
flute sounds over the white seats and is lost beyond them.
two men grab me and force a bird’s beak into
the ship begins to lift on the waves;
when I was a child, I was told
stories about God. A man said to me,
“God is a large blue tree filled with humming birds;
He is exquisite and urgent.” A woman said
“God is a fountain that erupts hair
instead of water.”
Now, I laugh and cross and recross the
excitement surrounding Him.
for so long I have wanted to be free to
I was withheld by fear; it made blisters on my
and now, I see a column of light approaching;
oh Christ, it used to move through dung, it is a
beam beneath a person flying—
you, man, or woman, I would come to your
womb, for a man has a womb also, a deep
warm place within him to calm agitation
and create. He, too, needs to bear a
and now, let that secret be known
that the sun throws into the window pane with
one glowing lance:
you are in the intimate places of me.
all my life I have wanted to write this poem.
Gloria del Vecchio