To Olga: A Note Concerning Your Clavicle found under the last pew of St. Teresa’s in the Ural Mountains, 1914
Oh! your clavicle is a most holy phenomenon!
I’m only certain it’s not unapproachable as it seemed –
You knelt beside me, unblinking, for the Eucharist.
This isn’t the right way to tell you, my young love,
but I want to feel it’s warmth with all of my toes
and slyly rub my beardless chin into it.
In light of long contemplation – useless attempts to flee
my desires. Late night. You surely sleeping. A candle
burning on the table – I see, I must ask.
This is a most hasty avenue to reveal these savage thing
to you, a pure woman, but I want my apprehensions
regarding your beautiful clavicle to rest.
And lest you be uneasy, this you only need consider –
my love is the sweating passion of a negro singer.
There is no reason to fear my swooning.
We will depart to the civilized Russia of Peredelkino,
a village free of turmoil, and mustachioed women
who may kidnap you for their brothels.
I’ll ride to meet you as midnight snows on my coat.
And I’ll knock six times with the skin of my forehead.
All to embrace the miracle of your clavicle.
