Childhood
That was the hour
in which the grass grew
and though in memory
of the runaway horse.
The wind spoke like a clumsy bear,
a fat shadow in love
with the shy lilacs.
When someone went to sleep
with eyes open
like Alice in the wonderland of déjà vu.
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From The Other Side
Like sand
in an hourglass
music falls over music.
I am sad tonight,
sad as a smiling wolf.
Music falls
over music
as my voice over my voices.
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Scribbled On The Cover Of A Borrowed Book
The hem of my dress brushes a field of flowers,
bright as children still awake at midnight,
bright as a nursery of little flames.
Light breathes in my bones when I write
the word “earth”.
A word which says both
‘forever’ and ‘right now!’; a word that echoes
in the hooves of sweet-smelling animals
(but are they running after?
or running away from?)
Earth is as sad as sad earth,
lovely as the words ‘the end’ …
which float above me
on slow sleepless wingbeats,
overhead like a dynasty of suns.
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The Arrangement
We began by announcing that Shadow had died.
Did Shadow know that Shadow had died? Undoubtedly.
Shadow and she had been partners for years.
Shadow was her only aide, her only friend,
the only one who wore a white orchid
and a black armband for Shadow.
Shadow wasn’t all that upset
by the sad occurrence and on the day of the burial
she held a formal banquet.
Shadow did not erase Shadow’s name.
The firm was known, after all, under the name of
‘Shadow and Shadow’.
Sometimes new clients would call Shadow Shadow;
but Shadow answered to both names,
as if she,
Shadow,
were in effect
Shadow,
although Shadow had died.