incest

I

remember mother

when i asked you for

sorriso bacino e carezza

after i had done something wrong

and your face was turned away from me_

i was then frightened

the future was withdrawn from me

without your sight to point for signs

and i had nowhere to place my step_

but you always turned to me

at the sound of my imploring

to soothe me in my anxieties

and dispel them away from me_

then i knew where i could still walk

with that magic charm pinned on me

that could pierce your light from the clouds

till in my pace i would have again lost

your astral body in the grovelled dust.

that might have been how a child

understood love must be:

as the two extremities of a string

stretching apart from each other

trembling for the snap that might come

if not stopping to let the other extremity

recover the intensity of the stretch_

then the adult has to measure itself

with how the child taught love to be

seeking for the glittering future

that in the smile of a mother's love

opened the wings of its gestures

to the breezes of silent certainties_

but the mother is not to be found

where the child measures its manhood

and the foreplay that it seeks compassion with

has not the delivery it knew it by when 

 the adult has lost in its knowledge

the kindness that makes for the mother

and with no perch to be sustained by

it seeks to recover the old child wisdom_

II

remember Gaia that night on the mountains

how i cried in your bosom to be delivered

by the screams that the trees bent their branches to?

and the white sea of anonymous caring

that is the power beyond the face of objects

overflowed on all my senses with the loss of grip

and compass to retrace the thread of your love.

i prayed to be returned to your womb

to find in the ground the bridal veil

that would cover me with the blessing of your stars_

was it the dream of a fetal position

where the adult nurses the child

and the mother is surrounding it all

with the strength that holds the petals

in bent nursing for the anthers and stamens?

but in the morning i lost your imprinting

as i kept track of you in the misleading

embraces of skins without your texture

that carried your scent but not your touch

trapping me in and offering no shelter.

i chase in the checks that could turn red

the dawning sky where the cornucopia of the sun

impregnates the stirring eyes with promises of 

shivering robes to entwine a spring of caressing breeze

where the cooling harmonies of a future to come

are not dried in the sand of consumed emotions. 

but the mother is not to be found

once the circumstances are made woman

and the childish game budded in adult icons

is muddled with the bleeding of bodily fluids

that stain in the conscious eyes

the innocent desire for communion

where the years of pain swerve

on the folds of a paper boat

that reacts to the whirlpools of its

elemental fears for a piece of land

where solid can emerge the hoped

foreseeing thunder of the lighthouse

dispelling the storms that light sinks

in the abyss where love weaves no weed.

so the adult is caught in the unconscious

swaying and pausing for her fire to kindle it

while the lost adult trembles to fly toward

that charm that was the flecked kiss

where words had the boundless trust

of unconditioned kindness of a flame

streaming the dark for a moth to abandon itself in

the gravitational echoes of the memories tolling like

the child informing its future with the wail of

sorriso bacino e carezza