Sunday, February 14, 2010

Winter Pane

I touched the window yesterday
the pane was cold beneath my hand
for winter dwelt beyond its plane
and dipped in frost the very land.

I thought if Spring would ever come
my window would again be warm
and tell of climbing Summer sun
and mirror flash of midnight storm.

And then again the wind would blow
and glaze the earth with solemn white
my window would of Winter know
a paler sun, a deeper quiet.
Written in my journal from 1983.
As I've gotten older, I've learned that life rarely rhymes,
and so rarely does my poetry, anymore.


refugee from reason said...

With form, often comes substance:


Distance is easiest of all to accept,
Conquered through simple measurement,
But your mouth not upon my mouth
Is violent, and your hair rising
From a pillow where I have never slept
Is more torture than gossips imagine.

Beyond your loveliness I cannot imagine,
For once my flesh and spirit had a mouth
Quite filled with kissing which slept
And fed with yours. What measurement
Is there of this? Or of how you accept
My awkward gifts assuredly as music rising?

Come to me, for this city with its rising
Streets is hard with strangers, who imagine
Love is presence only and would have me accept
Their moralities. In bitter air they have slept
Alone, who never knew your breasts and mouth
Believing marriage to be confined by measurement.

Perhaps, the sciences of measurement
Will count the times that we have slept
Together, or psychologists chart the rising
Of my pulse whenever your lyric mouth
Is at my lips – this I can imagine,
But it is a counting I refuse to accept.

Come to me, for we so long have slept
Apart that in my unjust dreams I accept
Reports of rape, death, and measurement
For your velvet coffin, or I imagine
Infidelities at the slightest turn, which, rising
In me, shame the promises that lovers mouth.

Forgive these doubts and my slanderous mouth
Whose lies and rumors I hate beyond the rising
Of my shame, for there are men, I imagine,
Who never doubt their women, who accept
Their menial tasks and with trivial measurement
Of numbering years with whom they have slept.

You mouth not upon my mouth and how we slept
Together is rising in me, until I imagine
Lovers who accept no finalities of measurement.

Itsa Mystery said...

@refugee - that is amazing and beautiful. Thank you for sharing.