Flower Of Japan
Feverish girl in a curtain of water
she opens and closes, like a fan
like a Japanese flower
In our game we imitate a vine
climbing gleaming skin
all the complicit length of skin
rusty leaves dead leaves
beneath the sighs’ cascade
Flower petals, butterflied trifles
between two gorges of sleep
caresses like golden wings
stirring nothing but dust
their lapsing graces
barely slowing us down
But there is the brown-eyed gaze
where the sea shouts in its sleep
the feral earth deepening in the eyes
at the very edge of awareness
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Firebrand
The wary face the storm
the hair of lunatic rigging
mouth wide to the four winds
arms lifted by the waves
feet and hands strewn wild
the breast broken with blows
the heart walking the plank
exposed to the violence of St. Elmo’s fire
I’m dying of laughter because of love
on the firebrand of our short lives
where you grind me to powder
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Car Window
The morning like a slow-worm of lights
moving over the roofs under the agile sun
the red and gray of toy houses
the pens of livestock and the smoke
the earth withered with scales
rushing towards fields and their limit-stones
the stone cross erected on the first day
in mourning for a wild beauty
yesterday promiscuous with strawberry groves
little black raisins, hedges of raspberry
A handful of blackberries dry on their branches
and everywhere the germinating shoots
of sorrowful men
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The Cold Country
Speak up
the winter has made us deaf
the sound of steps
heard beside the frozen lake yesterday
no longer echo in memory
and our life becomes a sad habit
behind a screen of glassy white
The snow fallen for many weeks
the coal and coffee diminishing each day
with less each day
the next day is always worse than the last
Our own memory forgets how to answer
The hunger the cold drive the deer from the forest
into the paths of the village itself
a stag is dozing in front of the cross
open-mouthed, head turned in and down,
poor likeness of our love
Did you hear the wolves in the night
when they came to prowl round the stables?
Beneath the high chimney the fire languishes
the dog looks at us with such patience
with so much pity
that our hearts break
No one sweeps clear the entry ways
Winter grows like a young giant
the snow falls and the frost thickens
and we grow older in equal measure
Speak low
it’s no longer necessary that we be heard
Soon enough the man of stone
will open up the roads