From Your Feet Where Loveliness Ends; Hernandez.

[acreofbones.livejournal.com]

[From Your Feet Where Loveliness Ends.]

From your feet where loveliness ends
in ten parts of danceable whiteness,
a dove climbs up to your waist
flowing earthward in unending spikenard.

Your feet make the essence of nacre
seem so absurdly narrow that wherever
they go whiteness patterns along --
a dog shedding anklets of jasmine.

I'm the surf and spume at your toes,
both sea wash and sand sift seeking
the way to our sheepcote soles.

There I'll enter, letting my soul slip
into the loving voice of grapes to say,
"Trample my heart, it's already ripe."

Miguel Hernandez.
Translated by: Edwin Honig.