123 To Maria
Tightly holding on to his body with your arms and knees --
His hardened tar in your porcelain cup,
Your boiling milk in his ebony jar --
On the motorcycle along the highway --
You will be.
Cutting through the air with the rush of words, the speed of eyes --
His ravens falling to rest on your snow,
The blinking white of your flame on his coal --
Open to the rain and the sun, and laughing --
You will come.
Choking with the sky, and resounding to the roar of race --
His night awaked by the light of your skin,
Your paper marked with the black of his ink --
Rushing from the east to the west, and raving --
You will stay.