Saturday, February 25, 2006

Sometimes a fantasy . . . .

Somnambulant Blue: Selkie Song


She walked past and was gone.
We have lived quietly together ever since--
in the lingering anonymities of imperfect timings,
the awkward semblances of her glimpsed face,
remnant of a voice she shook off her tongue like rain.

I wear it like a ring in my ear.
I drizzle the butter of it up and down my thighs.
It is what my body hears.

Something past surrender honeycombs her eyes--
soft light on topaz daffodils. She watches beyond
the quiet clarities of a tired poverty. It feels like
a stomach full of nothing to her.

So she draws the sea, like a hood, over her head, covering the
porcelain solitude of her face with the blue ink of sadness she
holds in her hands. There is a song, a loving rondo, that spirals

between her limned niche in the stars and her earth-manacles.

I sing it at night
while she sleeps in the curled nettle
of her magnificent, criss-crossed limbs.

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