Prodigal of Blue

 
 
 
 
In a dream of Iris, drowned by fire and gold,
come memories of a distant time of blue,
amidst veils of tulle, of blood tainted sails,
a time slender and light, a time-twofold.

Through a second, my senses were colours
come into bud on my yearnings' garden
in distances surpassed with joyous hearts,
for there blossomed the Island of Delights.

Gold would downpour if I thought of the stars,
moonlight sweltering over my estrangement:
Nights-lagoons, perfect portrait of beauty,
underneath terraces-de-lis of remembrance.

Time--arpeggio of inter-reverie and moon
where the hours irreversibly ran of jade,
when the tropical haze was ravenous
and the light--urge of a nude goddess,

baluster of resonance, arches of worship,
bridges of shimmer, ogees of fragrance,
ineffable dominion of combustion and opium
in a cold colour I shan't ever inhabit anew;

tapestries of different Persias farther East,
draperies of distant Chinas and more ivory,
auric sanctuaries for satin ceremonies,
fountains of shadow, running fearfully,

and unrealized domes--pantheons of desires
yearns for the infinite and ocean cathedrals
stairways of honour, steps alone, of air
new Byzantiums--souls, new Turkeys.

Fluid memories, a brocade of ashes,
indigo unrealities in me undulating:
king in exile, vagabond in a siren's dream
of the sweet blue of East and sapphires.