I wonder, by God, on which continent
Could I find you? Which river is your hair?
Where does your whisper roll in discontent?
Will our bodies breathe together your air?
Wild lands have been tamed; for this, I must claim:
Give me your body—I will play no game—
And the sterile fields will flourish in flame.
And now good divisions of hemispheres,
Seen through eyes on mater’al abstractions,
Will bend, in winds’ time, to dissolve our fears;
Where my East rests, your West’s split by factions,
As we made on maps: line through North and South—
Equal halves and quarters spoken by mouth,
Wide like waning moon parched from moral drouth.
No world, still, reflects our love like this globe,
Which we took to be our own timeless home,
Spinning in unison with cosmic ode:
Since the times before man founded the dome,
Centers sing in moments of unity,
Where elements on lands mix equally;
So love, conq’ring our hearts, will set us free.
Image Credit: Cluster by Kurt Hentschlager