A summer night (Memory of James White,) The corrupt bark Slumps then blushes A garish rouge to its pale Face. In this place I am a guest. This mound of incandescent Hands piled in font of me Resemble the hands Of my father. The latest light wresting From leaves is the traveling Peal of a silenced bell As a single tree turn As a single tree turns To and a stand Giving up its green. I have wasted my like you said. Distant porch lights glimmer In the sinking of the lawn, a sea Of phony stars descending To the ground. I cannot remember the place of my birth. This spotless house settles In want of response with the Quite grace of immaculate restrain. It has something to say About posture And homelessness. And You are still there, hammicked In the crook of two bent trees, Slung over the ground like A pregnant belly rolling into Immense space. Your hands Gone cold. Your voice is searching measure of time by echo. And We are left to ene distance by voice As if it could explain something. In this landscape, we are the visitors,and tomorrow, the clouds will Roll upon the earth, to cool or rain,and the waves will roll the earth taking with them light and memory Buy this Here, at the foot of this chair, A tiny prosperous easily With the violet heartbeat Of a clock wrapped in a towel. Good night.
Posted on: Thu, 03 Oct 2013 23:32:47 +0000
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