As if under spell
I eavesdropped at the morning’s organ piping
behind oriental clouds in flames.
Like a happy baby I chortled,
clapped hands and swooned.
My cheeks puffed up the reddishness
of the warmth a cactus collects from a summery wasteland.
Fig milk stuffed my mouth with sweetness
laid me out no less than mother’s breast.
With milk teeth I munched greeneries.
My veins chanted the hymn of verdure.
The river spread out a pebble carpet,
freed me from stink of work,
from armpit sweat.
Sun drip lit, like a minigod,
I fancied myself Adam
awaken from a long snooze,
his lips burning with the Lord’s kiss.