Something from Leonard…

…Cohen, that is. The first time posting anything in this space that is not of my own creation. Could there be a better choice? So much of my writing is focused on my own inner turmoil and longings…but I have difficulty escaping those trappings to really gaze outward long enough, or deeply enough, to reflect the inner and outer worlds in perfect balance as Cohen does. I can merely sit in the shadow of that mountain, trembling,wishing, hoping, dreaming to eventually approach the edge of those first velvety slopes. Enough. This is Beneath My Hands, from The Spice-Box of Earth. Hard to believe that this piece, along with so much of his early work, was once denounced by critics as "verbal masturbation". In my view, it is simply beautiful, gently erotic, and bespeaks his love and respect for women…………………

 

Beneath my hands
your small breasts
are the upturned bellies
of breathing fallen sparrows.

Wherever you move
I hear the sounds of closing wings
of falling wings.

I am speechless
because you have fallen beside me
because your eyelashes
are the spines of tiny fragile animals.

I dread the time
when your mouth
begins to call me hunter.

When you call me close
to tell me
your body is not beautiful
I want to summon
the eyes and hidden mouths
of stone and light and water
to testify against you.

I want them
to surrender before you
the trembling rhyme of your face
from their deep caskets.

When you call me close
to tell me
your body is not beautiful
I want my body and my hands
to be pools
for your looking and laughing.

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