My Mind

I left pieces of it scattered
over Europe, after school:
sunning on hills over Florence,
goggling at the gargoyles
perched atop Notre Dame
and chilling in the shade
of the Colloseum.

The postcards come
infrequently now.

I gave away portions to smiling faces:
stretched out templates of it
on the tinkling wire of conversation:
a clever mobile in the breeze.

I blew clouds of it
up in the air,
each particle of smoke
with its clinging passenger.

I danced off great slices,
sheared in the patterns
of eyes, tempo and lights.

I traded tracts of territory
in the closeness of touch
and the comfort of glances,
pressed petals here and there
between the pages of books,
stroked a thin glaze over
the canvasses of paintings.

But the best parts came to me
locked up in small trinkets,
or set in priceless treasures,
reflected in the glint of jewels
or the varnish on cheap paste.

Curled around arabesques
or hinted at in the subtle
combinations of spices
were glimpses of the
cultures of faraway minds.

Added @ 02:26 PM to Poetry category on August 08, 1999