The Jeweler's Solstice, His Madness
I know you, smaller than Circumference
Of Bone—smaller than Orbit—than Silver
Flask in Pocket—more delicate than Mints
On Tongue shrinking into Sweet Breath from Sour.
I know the Summer-stained streets must fill, twice—
With Milk, with Flood—of Moon—and Blight.
I know how the Forest leads its Shallow life
First, to splendor—Jade, Ruby—then Right
Of Dismissal. The Heir, I know. The Emperor
Of Laced Bone made Outlaws of Wrists, Ribs,
Liquor, Hands? Name me: Relief. A Jeweler—
Fashions Clasps to stall a season. Earring Stubs . . .
Now dark Blood pulses through the white Wrist's Gate—
Must forge—from Winter—How—its gemmed Bracelet.
Carrier Pigeon, Anonymity
Retrieve? Ask the bird's claw, bare and riven
Where the message fell, where it diminished—
Where the note filled—a Hand, unbidden . . .
Writing that bore my own hand's mark, vanished?
Result: a wrist smiles weakly, unable to lift.
Result: a tooth grays, a lost tongue, a lisp.
"Consider the knot's weight a loosened threat,"
The Manual said. "Consider the wind, the cusp
Of breath—an objection, an unwinding, a debt."
I left your envelope unsealed. I bought
A tattered wing, a cataract, from a merchant
Of cuttle bones, and birds. Months passed. I thought
You were weakening, ill. I wrote: Why
Does this comfort me so? Signed—no name—Me.
No comments:
Post a Comment