Real Love Cannot Come From An Ordinary Man

REAL LOVE CANNOT COME FROM AN ORDINARY MAN



The church had an uneven floor.
It was like small paralyzed waves
Of cream-colored and dark blue stones.
Light came in from a high-up small window,
Spread as if the petals of a flower.
Some of the light fell on the floor,
Looked like the scattering of silver coins.
No blue skies in the paintings, only gold,
Madonnas with large, egg-shaped
Byzantium eyes
And stiff lips and stiff cheekbones.
The bride thought that there had been
No blue skies in her life, only black,
Soft, clutching velvet and its lint.
There was a gold ikon that lost
Its body and only a brilliant gold head
And a twisted, thin wire remained.
Inside her, red lava poured from Venus' lips.
But in front of her, by her,
The wax dropped from the burnt candle
And ashes raked into a neat pile
Had a ring in a silk-lined pocket.


Duane Locke

Posted over on Anirondack Review