- Non-Erotic Poetry
- To A Dancer
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TO A DANCER 670924
By JC STREET © 2004 all rights reserved
I saw the morning rain rise
on Camelot, but it was not
your face
burning through minuteless time and flight it
was not
a yearless Springtime thing of
lilybuds bursting
I heard the willow’s tear
fall soft in the night but it was not
your breath-brush good morning
I tasted chestnuts burned in
spiced brandy and things but
it was not
the things come floating
on my night tongue sweetly
I felt the pip-popping drop of
a squirrel’s falling nut which
tripped from branch to stark branch while
meanwhile that furry fellow
hopped in anquish
- I guess that was you
it was such a human thing
I touched the raven’s child but
it was not
the same somehow as the kicks I feel
in your swollen belly
sleep-smiling
on my woman-flowered sheets
--30--
Montreal, September 24, 1967 – working in the university library—typing Library of Congress cards on an IBM Selectric
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