On Monday, I shared with you the first part of Ode and Burgeonings, one of my favorite poems, and today I want to share the second part with you.
To read part I, click here.
Ode and Burgeonings
Years of yours that I should have felt
growing near me like clusters
until you had seen how the sun and the earth
had destined you for my hands of stone,
until grape by grape you had made
the wine sing in my veins.
The wind or the horse
swerving were able
to make me pass through your childhood,
you have seen the same sky each day,
the same dark winter mud,
the endless branch of the plum trees,
and their dark purple sweetness.
Only a few miles of night,
the drenched distances
of the country dawn,
a handful of earth separated us, the transparent walls
that we did not cross, so that life,
afterward, could put all
the seas and the earth between us, and we could come together,
in spite of space,
step by step seeking each other,
from one ocean to another,
until I saw that the sky was aflame
and your hair was flying in the light
and you came to my kisses with the fire
of an unchained meteor,
as you melted in my blood, the sweetness of the wild plum
of our childhood I received in my mouth,
and I clutched you to my breast as
if I were regaining earth and life.