ELEGY FOR RAMÓN SIÉ

I want to be the grieving gardener

of the earth you fill and fertilize,

	my dearest friend, so soon.

Mingling my helpless sorrow with the rain,

the snails, and all the organs of your body,

	I shall feed your heart

to the drooping poppies. Pain bunches up

between my ribs till every breath I draw

	becomes an aching stitch.

A brutal slam, a heavy frozen fist,

a sudden silent killing axe-blow sent

	you toppling to the ground.

Nothing gapes wider than my wounded cry,

this grief that plummets down to roots of death

	sunk deeper than my life.

Across the stubble of the dead I walk

uncomforted, leaving my heart behind,

	and go about my business.

Death touched you as it fled, so soon -oh, dawn

shot up so soon, so soon, and you were hurtled

	in this pit of earth.

I shan't forgive death's last caress; I shan't

forgive life's heedlessness- no, not the earth

	nor nothingness itself.

My hands scoop up a storm of lightning, boulders,

strident axes thirsting, hungering

	for catastrophes.

I want to dig the earth up with my teeth.

I want to scrape the dirt off bit by bit

	with sharp and burning teeth.

I'll hollow out this pit until I find you,

kiss your noble head, ungag your mouth,

	and bring you back to life.

Back to my orchard and the fig tree where

your soul will brush its wings high up among

	the blossoms, gathering

the wax and honey of angelic hives;

back to the murmuring at windows where

	the country lovers meet.

You'll bask beneath my sheltered glance and hear

your sweetheart and the bees exhaust the theme

	of your nobility.

Greedily my love cries out to you.

It calls your crumpled velvet heart: come to

	these drifting almond sprays;

come to the rosy petaled souls among

these curdling almond trees. I need you here.

We've still so many things to talk about,

	my friend, my dearest friend.