Hearts Aglow

I look from afar,

Ablaze, aglow, askance,

I see the tears crawling down

And I see the rancour of ecstasy,

The rancour of misery,

Arraigned to the chain of

Dancing bodies, in trance,

In the bear’s snare. Trap. Trapped.

I see the rose madder on the cheeks and around the eyes and on their lips,

Dry and drier. I see the indwelling rose bud, it swells with desire, it blooms, it blooms, and then the monophthong strikes and the petals darken and fall off and it diffuses into the smoky haze of the night, sparkling, and carrying with it

a dirge for a dead love and they are dancing and dancing away until the remontant rose unfurls again only for it to end. Quickly. Quickly again.

Young hearts and young emotion; how deeply runs the liquefaction,

of the tender soul; in deliquescent eyes, warm with love, it is all there,

impassioning the mood.

But naïveté, naïveté is no good,

Naïveté is the early grave and on it,

a mourning rose rouged.

Away they dance in the blue night,

And all of them with hearts aglow.