Saying All There Is To Say
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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