Eric M. Petit

The Wild Madness of Spring

 

That day in the cottage of the island, on the cold bay, with the bright wind and beautiful light,

We were perfect, you and I, we were warm and we were free, we were sunsets.

We talked like old lovers, easy and familiar, smooth; we touched like soft storms,

Like lightning falling on trees, like waves in the rocks, we were starlight together.

That afternoon in the loft, covered in sweet sweat, with the taste of you on both of our lips,

That was magic, that was moonlight and wolves howling in the frosts of dark forested dreams.

We were fire in our bodies and eyes, we were amber and honey and gold and glowing.

Something burned up in me that day, something old and grey and covered in years of dust.

I think it was sadness and pain, I think it was the emptiness; I think it was that old feeling

Of never belonging anywhere in the world that was burning away like dry and withered grass,

Like the tumble down barns that burn in the night and in the morning are nothing more than memories.

We dove naked into the icy waters of June and we were liquid and lovely, we were one;

Not just one like any bodies can become but one like wind or oceans, like one whole sky.

We lay with your head in my lap and read to each other in the sun of the large, smooth rocks

And you were mine in your eyes and heart and I was yours in my hands and soul.

We danced in the kitchen like summer in the sweet grass, like spring in the leaves.

I don’t remember if there was music but it seemed there were songs in my flesh ever since.

Those nights under the deep covers were arabesque, flowing, a mosaic of pulse and motion.

We were the vivid colors of fall, we were the deep and dark depths of winter

And the sticky-sweet heat of summer; we were the wild madness of spring.

We were everything fit and seemly joined, moving perfectly, together, breathing each other’s lives

And I think that place was glad of us there, glad to feel our steps upon the warm grass

And touch again such lover’s hearts beating against the smooth stones and rough planks.

I think that such places crave the belonging of their people just as strongly as we long for each other

And feel the terrible absence of them too, like lost limbs or the old and cold houses without people

That slowly sag and sink into the ground with no one to love them, no one who belonged there.

I felt this gladness though, wherever we went, this settling and sighing of old spirits, this peace.

It was in the eyes of the old and still living lovers that quietly smiled as we kissed the world away;

It was in the looks of longing from the lost and lonely ones who had never found their homes

Or those who had lost them forever and now only counted the steps of the long path.

It lived and breathed in all that golden earth we walked, this peace and belonging,

The stretching, straining, rumbling feel of something long asleep, underground, awaking,

Rising now to walk and remember the sun and the earth, tasting again the wind and waves,

Delighted, like a child, in the act of running and breathing and being at last awake,

For I woke with you in the bright sun of that cold bay and found my love growing wild

And warm in the grass, heard your name whispered from the lips of the rocks and trees.

In the cottage of the island, on the cold bay with the bright wind and beautiful light

We were wild and we were free, living and lovely, whole and holy; we were perfect.