Speechless, breathless, oh, here I am again, mooning over a poem. I will never get tired of this feeling; never will find the right words, too, to describe how all of this feels just so right, so perfect, so brilliantly orchestrated, this road that leads me to this moment.
Now That I am In Madrid I Can Think
I think of you
and the continents brilliant and arid
and the slender heart you are sharing my share of with the American air
as the lungs I have felt sonorously subside slowly greet each morning
and your brown lashes flutter revealing two perfect dawns colored by New York
see a vast bridge stretching to the humbled outskirts with only you
Standing on the edge of the purple like an only tree
and in Toledo the olive groves’ soft blue look at the hills with silver
like glasses like and old ladies hair
It’s well known that God and I don’t get along together
It’s just a view of the brass works for me, I don’t care about the Moors
seen through you the great works of death, you are greater
you are smiling, you are emptying the world so we can be alone.
This is from The Selected Poems of Frank O’Hara, edited by Donald Allen, published by Vintage Books, 1974.