Saturday, November 16, 2013

The Postcard From The Alhambra Never Sent

[to Wallace Stevens]

the postcard from the Alhambra never sent
is tinged with rose regrets, perhaps,
a settled aspect to the tinted aqua skies,

the candied rosebud sighs of the Infanta
in fantastic array who wants to play
in the courtyards with the
rose-red day and not
to have her portrait made.

she is just whatever we can say about her anyway:
a mere muting of the perfumed fountains
by whoever feels that way and owns the power

to decree: Segovia never loved his guitarra endlessly-
let the universe weep little stars for the lies
that are told dismantling every siglo de oro,
verilly chided the Princesa
who never could grow old
in that shade of violet.

in a dream I treasured the
distance between sun and sun
and found the yardstick wanting 

in an age of only gold

mary angela douglas 16 november 2013