By
Jason Allen
The Idea Of You
If I had left swiftly,
without lingering;
if we had separated
without exchanging little pleasantries,
little trivialities;
if we had not sat there,
side by side,
drinking our tea,
exchanging a few civil words
without conversing;
I would have turned and gone,
my mind would have lingered
on your delicious features,
on your mouth,
that perfect circle of leeches,
on your rolling gait,
entering my skin,
settling there.
That’s the kind of morning it would have been.
Brittany
In the fragrant scrub I felt the weight of love.
I felt it when we looked at each other eagerly on the steep cliff.
I felt it along craggy paths,
in the sea,
in the low tide fleeing the fissured earth,
and the boats scattered like children’s toys.
I found a free country.
Its air was free.
It was toward this unknown
and free air that I headed.
To it I wanted to go.
Happiness was beyond choked cities;
in your country,
on your hills
and in their fragrant undergrowth.
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