I am confused which shadow is now my door.
My sleep that is often disturbed by wars.
The precious inactions of certain windows.
Cirrus extracted from your spine to regulate
the emulsions of protein from my poetry,
I keep entering places that honor your eyes.
The branch the tui sings from oozes a type
Of inflammatory kinship with my life.
As a way to watch how houses react to my
Pleading I just have to isolate infinitude;
Images withdrawn from the retina;
Cessation of physical dreams;
Cumulative stories derived from insects;
Distinct in its characteristics from known species.
From 100 Love Poems (Earl of Seacliff, 2005)
© John Pule