My heels on the cool tiles of the waters

Poem By Paul Snoek

My heels on the cool tiles of the waters
and the moon obscured through my auricle,
so I dare rest in the groove of glass hills
where the night reflects me as a sigh,
for in truth, a kiss is my only sense organ.

And soft as silver that you nearly touch,
satiated, I complete the works of the gods.

That is, discharging my lungs and drinking and
amazed between breath and shadow, feeling
how my hands fearfully in their warm hollow
stroke the cold fingers of their creation.

Translated by Kendall Dunkelberg

From: Hercules, Richelieu and Nostradamus, Green Integer, Los Angeles

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Why do I nobly conjure on the vertebrae of beauty?
See, this is the breaking key.

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the day swung open
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