Laurie Blauner

Under the Mermaid’s Moon

(versión en español)

Hair curls against our skin, waves,
flowers leap at passing feet, the concussion of rain,

sea pushes off the sand and tires into itself, a renunciation
to the watery, blue world of half-women. Don’t think

of relinquishment, but a connected, blurry vision
where the ocean dreams of spitting debris and gravel.

Wetting our faces with morning we practice songs
whose perfection smears musical notes against men’s bodies.

You should see aquatic life: the twist and shout of colors,
the knots of light, the vague features of the drowned waving

good-bye. In our own backyard we find desire,
not the kind that endless explorers spread over continents,

not the gold distortion of treasure, winking conspiratorially,
but the way life repeats itself, the retelling

of the amorous red rose. Some nights my heart
rows through water to the surface where stars braid my hair.

I can spy a man sitting under a streetlight, his arms
crossed. I want to hold him, his animal face