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if the snow never stopped
if the spring-- so precious as precious as your heartbeat the song you never listen to as precious as the atmosphere blue reminder we are still of this earth and not long dead-- if the spring never visited us again, never touched down around us with bird-like fingers never came to our door selling seeds never marched over death's back with long green legs what then would you do to escape the cold that enters your life at the weak corners of living but and against odds kiss someone and kiss again as they did in the fairytales to break evil spells to shake the dying from their unreasonable slumber? St. Lucy Queen of Littler Mercies deliver me from
this hungry ordinary of landlocked sealess worlds that refuses the rock of lullaby and transiting moons come down Lucy rooftop-wise where I've cultivated a shrine of moss am ready to play bareback truth-or-dare ready for the angle-iron of your thumb and forefinger straightening my entrenched chin oh Lucy Relentless who went to the river to baptize the fish who illuminated with willpower and glo-sticks who brings the erasers of thunderstorms that sweep this tired old world away Lucy of Kisses final as epitaphs oh Lucy Eater of Snakes and Cupcakes whose epistles will not rhyme will not behave whose dresses are shaved from waves that come in and go out without end Sweet Lucy of Wild Animals how I am tangled in you as a tiger caught in burning bush turning in a whirlwind desert of jackalopes and dancing bears that arrive locomotive-wise to carry us bass-ackward through our grimaces and gates oh Lucy of Tenderness and French-kisses if we are nothing but candles ensconced in suntanned flesh if our souls are as full as hourglasses in centrifuges Lucy of Hidden Holies and Dirt then teach me your green dharma poke out my eyes with dowsing rods Lucy of Scuppernong Wine open me to all that you know smooth of skin and songs and hips holier than this scared world of false truths that trembles under the knife of outer space and ignorance which may kill us today tomorrow but in the mean-time Lucy of Long Blind Nights will you just come down to my roof here under the stars please. and yes how did we get to the point
where I loved you where the hinges of my heart oiled themselves alive under a summer-lazy drop-drop of words my god how did we get to that terrible place of opening where the forests of body spilled out of skin to greet you with their green hands and endangered animals how could it happen that you were beautiful of voice scratchy and wise as promising as a squeaky boat that I only wanted to lie in and examine the stars patiently how could I have fallen into your clever well like a diver your well full of starfish at the center of the earth where children drop wishes like pennies and trust how could I yes trust the ribbon of your body the road to your thighs the gravity of your hips the sun of your throat and your breasts that silenced metaphors the way catastrophe O's the lip and tongue how could I how dare I love the falling the collapsing inward the winging outward the mirroring and wishing of it tangled in wholeness the entire garden a myth we believe and ride our fear to when at last we understand what it is to be brave and say it the promethean all of it whatever regardless irrespective of what shall come. friend don't say it doesn't mean
anything the owls rolling up streets at dusk to eliminate passage the way your ceiling collapses on your heart in the middle of the night don't say you can stand it you can live through it friend we are always dying and the dead live through nothing even stars collapse under the weight of their own self-assurance don't say she never mattered that her eyes were not as whole as mountains that you did not speak to each other the old language the one they banished when the gods invented reason and opposable thumbs it is not enough friend to carry yourself to the gate of sleep tonight it is not enough to beg the elephants to lift you through this round of dreams sometimes friend you must stay awake and count the stars forever sometimes it is prudent to throw furniture from windows sometimes there is no other recourse but to give the night everything that belongs to it. I have no wish this night
but for you lover before the dawn overtakes us like an eraser and the moon changes her clothes in the light. I am waiting to pour this water in the grail of your hip I am waiting for the bears curled in the onioned hours of my sleep to dream of watermelons. I am waiting so patiently for you to climb the fence of my junkyard. I have slept too long beneath the bed like dust. I have ate air out of boredom. I have grown sad on this horizon of corners. if you fell from the sky headfirst like a verb please tell me the stories are true: that there is a star for kissing and a constellation dark and ready for fresh kisses. |
Poetry LogPoems are posted here when I'm ready to share them. I often don't title my poems. The date you see above the poem may be the date it was posted here and not necessarily the date it was created. To see more, click on the Archives below. Archives
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Unless otherwise noted, all content ©Paul-William Gagnon, Creative Commons Attribution-Non Commercial-NoDerivs license.
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