Isnt’ness isn’t here

***
In the isn’tness of her Persian blue eyes
– central stage on her olive face,
Something in me that responds
To the primitive rhythm of an eyelid.
The rest of her soul is a silhouette,
Elongated and thin like a fjord
or Lake Garda – her home, her blue lodge,
Lapis Lazuli – blue gold.
In the isnt’ness of carved cupids I’m leafing –
Through the memory, through the ceiling
Of the Persian blue sky, imperial
Is her willingness to go anywhere,
To the ends of the earth to unearth
The secrets of nature, to learn,-
Makes me happy. She tells me her dreams,
I follow, like a predator, like a stalker,
With an eerie feeling of déjà vu –
To be or to not? A stop! I depart the kingdom of thought.
Dragging my feet I leave,
To the queendom of dream I swim:
Dripping images – Lapis Lazuli –
I return to the isnt’ness of the blue stone.
Isn’tness that has two wings:
One looking out over the hill
to the sea, for my ancestors of Iran
– across ‘Mare Nostrum’,
The other – for my guests:
Proust, Dostoevsky, Tarkovsky…
Liquid portraits, cascading visions,
Suddenly mingle
With the crunchy smell of the morning
– a shift as of sand slipping from dunes,
An olive face like an ancient rose
Caught in the twilight of Eastern deserts –
Dissolves.
Order and discipline of unseen disappear,
Drift, drift, drift, like a wisp of incense,
Isnt’ness isn’t here…