Sunday, January 3, 2010

The Circle of Time

Your nose behind his ear, your lips at his neck,
you could his legs on your legs, your body
curled around his
restless arms,
your fingers on the laces tie his shoes.
He struggles to go outside and is gone.


For a second he's suspended
in a smell, a baby taste
you can't hold onto, anymore than you could
keep him in your body
suspended with water, strung
by cord or hanging

in the circle of time:

There was a woman looking at a man,
White pillowcases, pressed and hemmed,
blue sheets,
wind on the ivory curtains,
the ebb of the lamp against the darkening sky,

stars, infinite and cold,
he waited in the moment in between.

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