Virginia De Araujo
Heart's No
Orchards are choruses of Yes
They grant the necessary
They fall composed to death
Like volunteers, but Heart
Is petulance, stalls, manoeuvres,
Propped limbs and ruses, displays
Makeshift strength and sups
Sips of brine, and refuses.
Orchards go easy, like rose
Fruit, like grasses, like the dance
Done at altars, and trees
As soon toss torso down as leaves,
And the dark spendthrift shades
Reform on other slopes, and seeds
Sink prodigal, but Heart
Still beating decomposes.
More fool Heart, repugnant:
Every good he hoards, he loses;
More vile the harvest smells
Of love’s bodies hung dryrot
From Heart’s frame of bone and art;
Sweeter the pruning saw, but Heart
Says, Relinquish not, says
No force but my forces.
Page(s) 37
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