(Painting, "Lovers in Moonlight," by Marc Chagall)
This bursting vessel
that I am, filled with memory -
scents of ocean-salted breezes
coiling into the many cups of quicksand.
Why do I so fear the remembering?
Surely it was joy that so scorched my spirit
and gave it flight across that black
glassy sheen of endless water
like magnet to star, metal core,
heat-seeking missile, echo worn
from valley to valley to final abyss,
journey to the highest note.
Unworthy though you were,
so was I merely flesh to flesh,
curve to concave, concave to curve,
palming the knots into song,
playing every last harp string
to vibrate taut and trembling,
trembling one pitch short,
only one more,
this note
only once.
(Published in Winter 2001 issue of coilMagazine!)
No comments:
Post a Comment