Loureine Aber

From “City Lanes”

The dawn comes to me sweetly, as a soft new child
Leans with its soul to drain a bit of milk.
And I am new.
O gray old city,
Lift your head a moment from the pots and streets—
Wash over me your meaning as a flask of fire
Tipped and spilled over at the altar’s base.
There are new augurings that go in blue-gray smoke
Up from your shops,
New lips that rain a torrent in me as of words.
Be still a moment, city, while the dawn tells tales.

I LIE by the bricks at night—

Do you think I am lying by you,

And this is your breast I lean against?

No. Bricks are my lord—

With them I shall procreate,

Until I wake some morning with my litter of stone.

Not that I want to lie with bricks,

O beloved of the white limbs and strong neck!

But how can I help it when they come tumbling—

These bricks that come fumbling

At my breast?

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