after Rilke
Despite the absent head (whose eyes
were the green of apples)
the supple flesh hums
with the afterglow
of those eyes
which is why the curve
of chest shimmers which is why
the twist of loin turns
that look into a smile, snaring
your eyes, leading
them slowly to regions
below the waist...That block
of stone more than a figure
disfigured and short; cascade
of shoulder glints
like a sinewy beast
of prey, whose edges blink
like stars—that torso:
gazing on its own. Step closer:
go blind
Copyright © 2014 by Francisco Aragón. From Glow of Our Sweat (Scapegoat Press, 2010). Reprinted from Split This Rock’s The Quarry: A Social Justice Poetry Database.