This deciduous earth, round-rolling,
The stars' magic, a great net, holds us centripetally;
There were five forests,
Plankton gnaws my kidneys,
Bold treelimbs gape like lost ancients.
Are we not warm together in this canopy, you and I?
"This is like something out of Ibsen,"
You said, "If it were not for my asthma..."
Words escape, inequable, reform themselves, diminish,
Words change colour, melt, they die,
Words are not real, words are not true.
"I find him dry though, too formal -
Like that painting of Titian's, you know."
I want to rub the clear muscles of your buttocks,
But smile only, shrug, and unpack the cheese.
previous poem
next poem
index
home
e-mail us