Courtesan

Some giant secret conduit – invisible – yet muscularly
steady, strong, containing – powerfully capable
of training and transferring power – serendipitously
now affords the passage of a strange sense
of well-being: there’s a sentience in it –
seeing, maybe, as you do, the usual accoutrements:
the couch, the chairs, the green bag of your laundry –

clean and squarely packed by Shanghai immigrants
across the street – touched by the flux and confluence
of light and river, bay, Atlantic Ocean: breeze
and cloud come in: a toss of global atmospheres
runs thick and thin – brisk, cutting, dry – quick-mixes
with a sodden humid sigh of sky: human – shy
and bold – bored and eager – something in

its mesh of cold and warm beleaguers air and rushes
mottled mid-June color into the alluring private lair
of your proclivities – the prayer your starved
imagination makes is answered: funneled through –
a spirit dances over brick, desk, paint, upholstery:
its rich considered glow all over everything in view –
as if Existence were a courtesan – come utterly to you.

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