you feel your ink wing soak the sky up,
like the marble of your colossus dreams
their winter glaze is unshaken;
i take your body down from the elders
and watch its spirit fly --
you'll prowl with shoulders
rolling like swallows in summer
and you could be sleeping and yet you are not --
your white lily hands splayed
above puddles and puddles
and i cut your nails down
so you won't hurt you anymore --
but i cannot break you from your dreams:
the threads and seams all wash away,
my fingers trail the stars you drew
shooting across legs, and i sigh
for their vermillion skies
are not mine -- i sigh
because
i feel my ink wing soak their dashes
and the lines and landscapes
which were only i --
i could be sleeping and yet i am not;
my claws cut --
and i let the reeds and green take your ankles,
touch your toes and cut across your heel --
i'll keep your head guarded by willows,
let your poor love see you be
tell him leave you be for you are gone away --
and i draw that star
way back when; when
you were my mirror image
and i still cry sometimes,
knowing that i lost you.
(02/05/2017)
YOU ARE READING
THE OCEAN
Poetry'In the old days at home the Neverland had always begun to look a little dark and threatening by bedtime. Then unexplored patches arose in it and spread, black shadows moved about in them, the roar of the beasts of prey was quite different now, and...
