| Distant Intimacies I A pleasure in May reading by the light of the setting sun, until at the last moment, the bed lamp goes on. Yellow, purple heighten each page's exotic tone. The text's trials & tribulations ignite memories of failed loves, misadventures, blackouts, personal battles in Bremen, Copenhagen, Paris. The young woman I spent time with at the bar, with its pink-neon Epernay sign outside crosses my mind. Champagne, the only drink there. Hailing from Martinique, she radiated a quiet fervor that hinted of dalliances with Gauguin somewhere back down the ancestral line. Skin the color one reads by on a May night. II Some rodent caused the mason to dismantle all the bricks, mortar, & wrought iron railings of the front stairs. To get to the morning Globe I had to circle round near a field where frost blanketed spring's green. Four Norwegian spruce danced in the sky. The local dog refused her usual snarl. The lilac drove its scent deep as permanent memory. But at the breakfast table blood oozed from page one. III In spring, when light lasts longer, the world is larger. Toward Symphony Hall in Boston successive apple trees turn St. Stephens Street white with petals & pistils. Approaching the site, one becomes trainbearer to the bride of the city. Here, nature needs only wind for pollination. A woman in a dream might even respond to a gentle kiss, “I like when my clothes melt off.” Contributor: Robert Gibbons
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