Portrait
Raise your hand between us, to your face,
And draw the opaque curtains on your eyes.
Let us walk here, softly checked with shadow,
And talk of careful trivialities.
Let us lightly speak at random; tonight's movie,
Repeat a broken conversation, word for word;
Of friends, and happiness. The darkness scurries,
And we hear again a music both have heard
Singing blood to blood between our palms.
Come, lift your eyes, your tiny scrap of mouth
So lightly mobile on your dim white face;
Aloofly talk of life, profound in youth
And simple also. Young and white and strange
You walk beside me down this shadowed street,
Against my hand your small breast softly lies,
And your laughter breaks the rhythm of our feet.
You are so young. And frankly you believe
This world, this darkened street, this shadowed wall
Are dim with beauty you passionately know
Cannot fade nor cool nor die at all.
Raise your hand, then, to your scarce seen face,
And draw the opaque curtains on your eyes;
Profoundly speak of life, of simple truths,
The while your voice is clear with frank surprise.
(Em Double Dealer, New Orleans, junho de 1922)
