go down to hell and pick its flowers there,
I have seen all the love die.
And watched all else ascend
through aching whirls of sky
that felt more than the falling body.
I have watched the clouds
come pluming upwards through the streets
I have seen them spell no name at all.
Bright arcs of leftover sunlight
ride with them in my memory
and resurrect my soul.
The scroll of lost days
grows wider and wider
on the paving sheen.
The mirages bloom.
I find her behind a shield of vines
I find the long walks on a thin stem of concrete
I find the rustling paper of a dream
I lost from her
that she wrote in a glass hour
from a streetlight's answer
and a bronze caged alley sigh.
No comments:
Post a Comment