But the Greatest of These...

Two Dusty Albums

by

Arturo Vásquez

(for AG)

The rising of love
Is grandiose in the mind;

It peeks in with the first light
And keeps the time
With her hands,

Gently clapping, cramped
Rooms of trinkets-
Lives piled up with dust
And untouched.

The past rocks vigorously
In her chair-
Neglected scraps of paper
Between pages.

All of these faces, behold
The treasure of widows
And lonely nights-
The syncopated cooing of babies
And the smiles and vibrant talk
Of innocence sealed off
From tomorrow.

Somber monuments emerge
Of grown-up parting.

This is where I left myself
And I am left-

The echo of birdsong alone
Beyond that threshold
Leads me up
From Hades-

Orpheus is taking
Eurydice’s hand.

For when I was a child,
I spoke as a child,
I wept as a child,
I laughed the last rays
Of dusk as a child,

But when I became a man,
I put all of these small things
Into my heart.

And now I take your hand
And ascend into the
New morning
Of photographs dreamt
But not yet taken.