Lisa Zaran is an American poet and essayist. She has authored six collections including "The Blondes Lay Content" and "the sometimes girl", the latter of which is currently the focus of a translation course in Germany. Four of her poems from "The Blondes Lay Content" are being translated to Bangla, a language of Bangladesh. She is the founder and editor of Contemporary American Voices.

Discovery

For awhile I believed
I was trapped
on an island
of thought.

This is the way
I see the world,
this is the world,
why isn't it different?

So I changed my thought.
I pushed it out
into a sea of roaring
waves and told it: swim.

***

To Be Loved

Especially, to be loved.
To walk into a room knowing
your arrival is anticipated,
wanted, waited upon.

To see each face shining,
happy and smiling. To feel
the clutch of arms around
your waist. Warm lips
touching yours.

To not feel anxiety
or fear the strain of moods
when the curtains are drawn.
To pull into the driveway
and see, through the just
windexed window, a childs face.

And to hear behind the door
a dogs cheerful cry.

*** 

Simplicity

So simple suddenly,
the way evening goes
and night arrives
to gather us in its arms.

Extremely close
the stars so ready
to give light that looks
and even tastes like tenderness.

The bottom of
a milk glass moon
whose white stare
is a fixated fragrance.

So pristine the how
of darkness as it
fastens in every hollow
draping itself in trees.

The streetlights then
flickering on to splinter
like little bones between
the darkness.

Little bones between the darkness.

***

I Know Why It Is That I Love You

The half bright half bending look
In your eyes. Smoky laughter.
Your face coarse from the weather
Of years. Your mouth opening to speak.
Into it I go flying, seeing nothing.
I know the distance between us.
The physical as well as the emotional.
We are strangers, I know this too.
I love you in spite of it. I know
Your face, the autumn of it, the
Falling shadows, distance and the
Awful crowds that form like walls
Between us. I fare because I see
You anyway, the silver streaks
That run through your hair, the 
Collar of your coat that when you turn
Takes you away. I conceive of
Your hands disappearing into the
Dark lake of your pockets.
I conceive what no one else can.
Your bookish silence. Your heart
Which you keep locked inside stone.
The wolf of your ambition
That even when you sleep, roams
Closer and closer to me.
I open my mouth.
Into it you will go flying.

Transformations

Last night I thought I found you.
Darkness filled my mouth.
A cool wind filtered through
the incumbent trees, leaves
swam in tranquility.
I walked along an invisible path
through the woods, nature
sang all around me.
A blonde, round faced moon
hovered above, following.
In poverty I walked, not knowing
as the sad bell of my heart
knocked against my breastbone.
In the deepest, most genuine
part of my dream, the part
where the path ends
and moonlight can no longer
be discerned and birdsong
wavers in a different tongue,
I saw you. A shadow descending
through branches, galloping
over stone, gravel and grass,
hair and scent invading everything,
a mute intention I gathered
in both hands, then locking
my palms together not to lose
you, I turned toward home.
Tripping just as I stepped out
of the woods and into an open
field, the blue haze I carried
rushed past the raw light of night
to disappear into the sky.
But for one instant I held you.
But for one moment you were mine.