Untitled Metaphor #6

I could become lost in your eyes
As easily as my breath stopped
When I saw the moonlit first snow
Like gossamer on the Commons lawn —
But I would rather share our minds
Than those other regions of the soul
On which its windows look.

Yet not only those pools (depth: indefinite)
That cause all paths to become trackless —
Something in your bearing and posture
Is almost like a chord of music, or
Reportedly a lovers’ parting, “such sweet sorrow”
That those who sit in it would
Choose to prolong the tension
(Forever, if they could).

Even without my sight could I die
From perpetual caught breath
And stopped heart at such beauty,
For in our mutual presence,
With sight turned elsewhere,
My heart melts, and I nearly understand (with
Such sickly, almost candied, feelings,
“Too flatt’ring-sweet to be substantial”)
Why the Greeks had set emotion in the gut —
But with melted heart, my soul’s unbalanced,
And thus my intellect can’t choose
To think upon such things.

This is a poem from my series of “untitled metaphors,” which I began, if I recall correctly, during my sophomore year at Calvin. I posted Untitled Metaphor #5 on this blog earlier. For the reasoning behind that “emotion in the gut” line, see for instance here; I trust the other allusions are more penetrable. I’ve cross-posted this poem to my wiki. And as always, feedback of any kind, including criticism, compliments, questions, suggestions (especially for what to post next), or anything else, is eagerly requested and greatly appreciated.


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