It is too much- for my body- my pitted shell-
let it out! Too big, or I end in explosion.
I swear: it is my heart's content, transposed into
a version of a glass, of a taste, of spring
whatever sweet sound you wish- would he come and
take it from me, I can give forever
with the force of a forest growing up
before us, wait! My thousand years of trying-
to tell you the entire thing, enough! Oh, finally!
How it leaps from my whole breath
toward him in the very final draw,
begin the gasp of life- my fingers skim the sharp wheat,
so long legged, loping field by field, yes,
and let there be a dog at my ankle and- far up ahead,
torn shirtsleeves tied around his neck, my man.
I run strawberry red in the cheeks, see me sample
the air in every fitful breath, galloping-to!
Take me down the valley, bramble-shod where I stick.
Pull me up by the boots calling, "sweet little poppy- do the right thing!"
I was just a kid, I pricked my brain on the hot tip
of dad's words about vanity:
(begging for a mirror in the barn, he said,
"The raftered black swallows framed
a glint of silver where I fell!")
And the horse took off and I wasn't born yet,
but I know the past, the glint sickened mirror
I framed my face with, oh! Feel it shatter and burst
in the light when we basked for a day of spring!
Drawing his face his lips and wrist,
a little bit strange- left my body then,
the purple honey sugar of wisteria vines suspended
over the newness of the park, our hills of laughter
strained through buds of potential flowers.
No comments:
Post a Comment