For the Haunting of Mauna: Body of the Queen

SUAVE body of the Queen, she gave me you,

Misting in still, warm rains of tenderness—

But kept herself, and we are each betrayed.

You are her mistress, and she makes of me

Another mistress! Playthings are we both,

When we thought she meant us for full sovereignty;

It was not regal, and her throne is stained.

She bade you seek me, and your singing feet

Ran quickly, surely; you held out your hands.

You had no fear because you felt my heart

Leap as you laid your white breast under it.

We had no prides to conquer as we kissed,

For we knew kinship in our overthrow.

Yet now she stands apart and questions us.

How can she question—leave me out of it—

But you, her body, her sweet source of joy,—

How can she then divide herself from you,

And calmly reckon what the gain may be?

The hour will come when she will tire of us,

And all your softness will be broken up,

Your rioting lips chilled with an ashen wind.

There is a hint of vileness in the air,

And on the strings a dance of ironies,

With love’s scarecrow jigging wearily…

Still I have you—so I am not afraid!