Issue 13


Autumn 2014

 

Ode to Carlos


Your eyes are like the Thames at noon, mid-spring:
Soft gray-green sprigs of velvet moss and sage.
I do, I do, the river seems to sing. 

My eyes are brown and ordinary things,
And yet, you call them doe eyes and your refuge.
Your eyes are like the Thames at noon, mid-spring.

You are the muse to rouse ink’s uttering;
Yet, who can love in ink upon a page?
I do, I do, the river seems to sing. 

We’ve crossed the Tiber, Arno, walked along
The Seine and Manzanares; yet, each voyage,
Your eyes are like the Thames at noon, mid-spring.

And if I were to lose my wedding ring,
I’d make a vow each sunrise; that is marriage.
I do, I do, the river seems to sing. 

When you have gone, I’ll keep imagining
That if I were to make a pilgrimage
To see your eyes again, at noon, mid-spring,
Adieu, adieu, the river still would sing.

___________________________

Nicole Caruso Garcia