16 July 2007

I have not avoided certainty, it has always just eluded me

A Morning

A dog surroundingly howls.
Painfully he is changing
His voice from a voice for the moon

To the voice he has for the sun.
I stoop, and my hands are shining;
I have picked up a piece of the sea

To feel how a tall girl has swum
Yesterday in it too deeply,
And, below the light, has become

More naked than Eve in the garden.
I drop her strange body on the cobbles.
My hands are shining with fever,

And I understand
The long, changing word of the dog
With the moon dying out in his voice,

And the pain when the sun came up
For the first time on angel-shut gates,
In its rays set closer than teeth.

1 comment:

Karen said...

I read the poem aloud and the words came out sad, but their meaning was still murky. The images they provoked blended together in a stream of sweet sorrow, beautiful but bitter and smelling of death.