Calling: to the white marble of Montpellier

Cover Picture

Calling

Sipping Rhone wine under the flounces

of the massive Lime-flower tree

aroma and scent trouble me.

The wine at its best, the flowers at their peak,

and yet my habitual absorption in

the sensory is being tugged at,

its tension overstretched like used muslin,

its once overwhelming newness wearing thin.

The perfection of sky balanced on untouched forests

almost eludes me at this time,

but the gist of your abstract words has already

dropped in the fine covering of flowers at my feet.

For someone is calling me from

the white marble of Montpellier.

A dream in our shuttered salon, the logs in the stove

like wands of alpine witnesses,

compels me to descend our mountain hairpins

on the weekly bus alive with grape-pickers,

my suitcases slotted between their stained baskets,

to the other North African haven of Montpellier. .

You demand why and who and how I must go down from

this ultimate haven of Cathars, catholics, shepherds,

but the gist of your question disappears

in the evening sizzle of biftek buried

in an armful of bay leaves and vine twigs.

For someone is calling me from

the vivid painted timbers of Montpellier.

The fierce row on the boards at bedtime,

your coarse tears extinguishing the candles

and unbalancing the stable slab of incense,

propel me out of your faithless fleshy cloisters.

You hurl bells, burn sutras in your ashtray,

demand and denounce my path to this ‘borrowed’ deity,

making last-ditch interrogations under a strong light.

But the gist of your spite is sucked

into the Lama’s Himalayan eyes,

dredged over the ample of his saffron robes,

as he welcomes me to the wooden temple in an orchard,

its specifications exact, my mission specific.

He has been waiting with his butter lamps and words.

‘‘You heard my calling. I knew you would come soon.’’

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