And are we not just fragments
Sappho on the street cornerwith a girl from Las Vegas
an empty room freshly painted
a mirror in the reflection of a lake
the dream of history reversing
out onto a funereal landscape
the water drop constellations
but I am not going to imagine you anymore
than I have to. One goes back to old sources
the ebb and flow of different species
of trees, the green moons of sleep
the endless fragrance of darkness
Are we not risking the next chapter
the abandoned lap, the fine result
that had easily come to us
O my dear nothing
your voice turned out to be
the same phantom
a tidal pool of words within earshot
It doesn't matter we've forgotten
the submerging months among
the fleeting absorptions
the loose daylight texture
the happy secrecy
the lucid cheerful insight
showing how much you know
etched into a cloud bank
against the ordinary eternity
2 comments:
Man I love the title and so many lines ... but I have a hard time following the narrative or imagery ... I've been here five times before I said this much, cause I know you're sensitive like that.
I'll try to make the next one easier for you to follow.
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