15.9.10

In Vivo

Whether or not she stepped out of the shadows,
he said, eyes spilling to soil, mixing for breath,
I will never see the light again on her face,
calmly, palely, unuttered. Then
the ghost came, whistling, coming
through the valley and she
came, a smile nailed to both of her hands,
without a face so clear, so subtle.

Four years ago they sat together,
plastic looking almost mahogany
in the evening lecture. Like bumble
bees they climbed into flowers,
rolling and twisting, almost
writhing, but coreographed, until
the hope of life wrapped around
their legs and limbs. They licked
petals from their eyes, unblinking.

A momentary breath caught her thinking,
caused her to breathe, as he looked
into the mirror, walking slowly to the wall,
then to heaven. Without a whisper
he could never understand, turning and turning
in a bowl filled slowly, gently, with little
slips of paper, the lid unclasped, leaning closed.

Like a child grasping a pencil tightly,
writing d'nealian on widely spaced paper,
repeating pictures, slowly and carefully,
daringly, he touched her and she withered,
opening, her words flowing and revealing
tomorrow's first child, resting
in a basket without tears.

No comments:

Post a Comment