Lying back, I look straight up;
My gaze a prisoner of stars over India,
Bright lamps burning through the after-dusk
With sub-Continent intensity.
My possessive friend sadness pays another call
As your face takes shape again;
So close, yet you in America so distant.
A crushing desolation and loneliness
Saturate; breath hesitates, resumes.
Sound, like the hot night, all around me;
Children splash in the tepid water
Made diamond-green by purifying chlorine;
Their bodies gleam in under-surface lights.
Poolside voices murmer,
Activated by Indian politics and summer heat;
Somewhere behind, music sounds,
Faintly issuing a listening invitation;
But my sagging spirit refuses.
My eyes would welcome tears
But overflow with images instead;
Your lovely features and soft body;
The sun finding red-gold in your hair;
Your eyes like overhead on a clear day;
Your white and slightly crooked teeth,
And your full, curving lips
That have dared me so often
And transported me where men like to go.
Now I seek fulfillment
With only your hand in mine,
And I dream of your arms encircling me
To find sleep together.
My gaze feels glazed;
My thoughts a train of ten thousand miles,
And we are heart to heart.