THE SECRET VISITOR

THE SECRET VISITOR

                sometimes when the reading room is

                almost deserted the lamps blink out
             their green shades go black to mark

                the hour when the Secret Visitor comes

          she can be glimpsed flitting from shadow
                to shadow behind the trellised grillwork
                of one of the upper galleries and it's then
             I think of that long necklace of hers
           the one she'd strung from poplar to ash
        the night the trees around the library
          bled out the last of their sap and died

        the spiders and wood lice here are deists
               the Secret Visitor claims to know each
          by name as she bites into a blood orange
                and the juice dribbles down her chin

            I rushed out of the library determined to
               head for Paris to live and paint imaginary
              portraits of her on the Hill of Martyrs

                later that night at the ristorante
              I spotted the first man to circumnavigate
               the globe without a change of underwear
        dining sad and alone at the next table

                on Strega and eggplant Parmesan

        we cannot deny the Secret Visitor
               is the last of the sainted flesh eaters
        that her breathing carries in it
                the distant rush of an ocean

            the almond trees are already in bloom
           and a hunger an ineffable hunger
                is worming secretly through our guts


ERIC BASSO, USA   

 April 30, 2013