She reads Rimbaud in Abalone Shells

She reads Rimbaud in Abalone Shells

mikl paul

 

but a ghost keeping

    watch over gathered flowers,

  insisting; only water will raise

the orphaned rib,        that

   you drink from,    conscious crossed,

as the stars we have named refuse to respond,

     by name.

 

who are these minutes pacing

    to surround with no desire

to understand and your shoulder blades

    lifting         what is drowning      

           beneath such skin

 

which of your creatures still see

   in the night,   with eyes closed,

with no forgetting then:

     first light,     remind me,    her

whisper,      first light,    to me,

      saying       first light,   I

love    you      let me restore all

     of you in me and

 

let the heaven buckle to gnaw the

    crowns of tress

 

let these hungers hold paper to your mouth

     and trace the shape    of

       your secrets told,

 

the path alone,     for instance,

    for the sake of instants  postpone

that standing,   scanning the room

    for what you arrived bearing,    

what     you will never leave behind

    yet       all the pollen shed in the song of

              your thighs against my thighs

beginning now to golden all of this trying

     with the leaf of the discovery,   the

  fiction of a settle within the living,

     find me in the encore  and

 if you are willing to define, to begin,

    knowing we are no longer so new.

Reviews

[Katrina]

I loved this one. The image of the shoulders lifting was so simple and elegant. Knocked the breath out of me.

[Paula]

What an impressive write!

[mikl paul]

Thank you so much.