TROUT   [5]

Kapka Kassabova: [1 , 2 ]
The Sphinx
In the crouching darkness she gathers
like an urgent flock of moths demanding a candle-light.
His body whitely stirs, so precious in its beckoning.

A match is struck,
she hurls herself into the soft wax, reaching deeply
(how deeply can they reach and why is it important to?, he wonders).
They seek to bring each other to one containable dimension
in a mutual herbarium,
in an ecstasy of flattening
only love can perform.

In the wise dawn there are moths
moulded in a chaos of tortured wax.
It is a miracle she and he continue to flutter
demand light in the empty corners of themselves,
but only there - 
and there is no other wisdom at dawn

Searching is less complete than having, surely.
Surely? And is it completeness they seek to have?
(she wonders at the easy attainment of inscrutable desire).

Despite an entry, the sphinx remains a monster of history
the vistor cannot share.
Separate in their exhausted possession
they rise for something else already
as if something else
will bring them relief.

  © 1998