Of A Tale

In the belly of the whale
the coal-black night conceals me
and your glance quells my breath
and you rise and rock me gently
and the stars circle the moon and
my pupils seek the light,
my soul siphoned by

your headlight gaze.
Your wild November eyes and
swollen lips like figs are
wine-sweet and terrifying
The tower within me quakes
but the impact has been
a long time in arriving

And my body involuntarily
concludes that this is it-
the last ship out to sea
the lone crow to be
cherished and buried
a fortune born in despair
a convoluted riddle for the telling

I am incapacitated, hair
turning to wire and teeth
to shell and limbs to
mahogany as you soar, a
lithe sparrow, or stronger,
a hawk bound in leather and
braving the storm

And then we are both teeth
and pursed white mouths as
the fog settles on us and
we somersault, waltz, gracefully
erase preoccupation in order to
find that which we sought in
our prepubescent daydreams

The beating heart is a warm mother,
the chaste morning, a white witch

3 December 2010

The King of Marigold

Your eyes were closed
as the sighing traffic
tumbled by below my window
and from where I lay
beneath the golden shroud
of your hair I did not fear
the icy cold nor the chaos
even as my lips
quivered under yours
and the bronze bell rang
and the tablets fell in pieces
and the proud thunder applauded
the torrent of my tears,
rising like the tide and
reminding me that
I am yet nothing
but a child

3 December 2010