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There’s beauty in the strangeness , as in
night moths flying under icy fog
, or the dull moon , like a dying birthmark 
, or a flock of snow geese , illuminated
as white teeth : like that static charge
from your dark eyes ; your voice 
, as if words from a frosted pane . 

A red dawn’s collected crows , flocks 
of black monsoons , songs of wood
and whisky ; autumn’s paper leaves
, a tainted stream of wind : barefoot
, your toes in the mud , the water
echoed your mouth : a nocturne  
, requiem , cathedral of clouds  …

our bodies , cloth bags : we carried
the other , lovers groping for
the past . I untangled your hair
: your eyes , empty shells .  
I tried to remember the positions
of your kisses , the spiced sugar 
of your watery tongue .  

Winter came , a web spun from
chimney smoke and dead skin 
, a droopy sky’s guttural cadence
; you gathered your wants
, the many scraps of heaviness .
Darkness cracked , then opened 
, what remained fell in   …  

your Punk lipstick stained my sheets
,  I lifted you to taste the corpse inside
your heart : a field of deep holes
, marble stones , a nest of cold roots
: that electric dawn shocked me . 
I woke up 
and placed you at the curbside . 


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first published in: Lothlorien Poetry Journal (France)

beauty in the strangeness is from Walter Tevis

from my forthcoming 10th book: "Broken , poems"

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