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A difficult display waiting in that very
small room I don’t remember. Movement, like
bodies of a wide field closing vacantly into water.
Blinding down her charming hands
my skin rolled nearly as music.
As if my eyes would like to be dead.
We woke liberally, different.
I won’t hum. For dreams the long night opened a sadness.
Merely a kiss? My belly warming by then.
And the difficult prophet stooping
(Prepare ye)
, trapped herself myself
a discontinuous creature, a duplicate of:
silver people, of pity, of merely opposite girls
who minister, reverse loneliness. Merely.
Wild victim! Collusions!
A great vocation imagines the hectic in a presence.
Cold girls, their wild honey membranes.
Wore white, untie, a gift.
Perching, perching, I’m a flower.
Very sort of wedgelike.
Some currency of mercy stationed politely
along the Jordan River. Jordan. Imaginable daughter —
(his)
absent marrow, unquenched. Sheer, it’s impossible to glimpse her!
How translate what’s left in the space of what leaves?
My own daughter: a golden stalk here on the veranda.
Touch her, she’s precisely here. So many girls!
Deck of cards on fire!
Girls gone missing!
Look: a spongy wafer breaks its life.
This inarticulate prayer skittering about my chest, my womb.
Our hats were nothing frivolous and despite my sparkle I am also a basket.
Things can grow in me.
Things can grow on me.
There are too many girls here?
Finding my lips but not my beloved.
I can’t swallow a thing!
We will have a garage sale and display our love.
Now the girls are forgotten
(forgiven?)
, the daughters swell in their own safety.
We are sheer but precisely here, touch us.
I imagine voices in great numbers
and sins clothed in gold, in blue frocks.
I imagine, my love, but you happen to be.
Heaven was made for them.
The low earth finds me again. The low earth.
The low and present belly of the earth.
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