Monday, August 16, 2010

for M

oil in the fingers
honey in their webs
you and I

the gloss of the catalog
the monied linen
slid between the digits

the point of fracture
seeding in the hail
the white-on-white-on-white

of your ghost
luxuriant, resting
on my retina

you are the falsity become true
the wrenching pain
eaten by the several mouths

of admiration and fear
of doubt and longing
of the molten gold and liquid steel

I call your skin, your eyes
Spirit closes her hand
enclosing the jewel

of you, arrayed in your own pure being
I have seen you wearing nothing
not even nakedness

alone with none of your shadows
no diffracted dressings of eyes
you are the sun inside my chest

the spark inside my eyes
commanding:
speak with the fire, converse

with the light: O Man
be unburned!
your limbs are the rays

of the pourings-forth
of flawless bronze
into a flawless cast

my tongue is brutal and coarse
to abide itself speaking
and not to sing, glorying

in your touch I cannot feel
your beauty I cannot see
the radiance of your affirmation

I cannot taste in the midst
of our night
and your full-throated song

your breath that cries
the scent of broken lilies
which I cannot hear

through the noise with which
we've stoppered our ears
and dammed

the rivers of separate lives
split with a sluice
the streams of the rainbow

diamond of unspotted color!
brilliancy of life!
far away, in the place before

there is no I
no final note of passing
I repose, always

within you, beside you.

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