Wednesday, October 31, 2007


What . . . ?

In a single floral stroke.
What is there?
In these depths
Of these walls…

This gap in time,
Against which we have been projected -
Mystery of missing ships -
To follow this path of their brief blossoming

And melt the spirit; his mouth will distend
Beneath a pile of corpses, lying massed…
Is your ashen moon to grow?
I might have happily lived some other childhood

And the worlds—skiffs rudderless,
Roiling on and on and on,
This season not their own,
Come, swallows, its good-bye!


ish said...

I have not visited in quite a few days. Reading back over the recent farewells and reflections, ... and I thought this one particularly poignant. It seems to me less 'dadaistic' than some of your others. I like the way 'rudderless' picks up the 'missing ships' imagery. Haunting imagery: pile of corpses, ashen moon, other childhood.

aria said...

ohh .. this is wonderful .. it made me shudder ..