words & pictures
That rockmelon moon Leant to a smile A girl, leaf brown Fell from a tree From limbs with mouths That age old gnarl Turned yellow eve, russet, sun lost Spiralled down to holes and with The endless shape Of clasped hands In her soughing, see-saw breath From the morning, scattered
The morning has holes Like a summer leaf Withered by all those excesses The swelling lymphatic process Curtailed again, in that shirking act That ebbs in sacrifice Closes, a bent fist Inside the marble of your eye Thought you had turned the world Inside out, the moon-thin meniscus Serpentine and fluttering, in return from sleep For that, the ocean dark below All the pooling magma Defying sunrise (you said the name Of some lost shape) Between wakefulness, and The still suffused surface
