night through the orange window
(i)
Tonight
in the amber warmth
of her deeper dreaming
I will assert my seasonal self
living again
the rain and mist of her smile
so that now
in the mystery of the moment
her face
is at my delirious throat
her blind lips murmur
over my salt neck
my shoulder
so that now
in the silence
of the moment
we walk again
through that young night
and this
step by slow step
into the trembling.
(ii)
That night
and this
you leaned forward
your shoulder in the firelight
patterned
with the delicate bruising
of ferns
tenderness and tenderness and tenderness
your cool hand
was on my face
to still me
tender as a receding sigh
pale as the sound of your eyes closing
your slender hand
moves over my face
tastes my mouth
pauses at my throat to listen—
my blood
its mad sport
your slender hand
moves over my face
to still me
as if you were blind
tenderness and tenderness and tenderness
your slender hand
at my eyes lip
and sheaves of bright hair
bend tiny
down all the slim meadows
of your autumn skin
your cool hand
moves over my face
to know the form of the formless
to print time into a frown
a petal of smiling
or a terror
too beautiful to speak
silence
is your cathedral.
(iii)
Tonight
in the vast room of this still moment
in this century
between the bell and the blue star
through the screen of shocked air
distilling voices from the street
I have you
as you really are.
Outside a star is ringing like a bell
death. day. birth. night.
I could not possess you again
save as now
you are
the sound of heat
in the grove
ripening
you are
death’s first small lily
breathless
come in wonder
panting at the foothills
of my grey face—
And I bemused
you are
heat from an unlit fire
the scent of unspilt rain
the aftersound of music
from across the black and white lake
you are—
it is nameless
what you are
unspelt
death. day. birth. night.
Outside a star is ringing like a bell
ripples of warm panic over the poor day
his giant face.
his voice is big
through
all the heavens
calling Ulysses.
It is not that I am lonely
in the world
without you—
but that I am lonely
in you
without you
Tonight
I have you as you really are
within; without;
there are so many worlds
stacked like cards
between the bell and the blue star
who would not like the giant shout ?
(iv)
I remember her as a fifth season
she
who came unheralded
into those lean months
shaming the precise blue evenings
with the proud eternity of her flesh
she
who loved proudly
causing wonder and a little natural awe
who drew long cool fingers
slender and pale as dawn
over my thick face
who wandered singing
through my light head
scattering memories of the future
like burning pebbles
or roses
she
who caught my lips gently
between her small cold teeth
who kissed the husks from my slow eyes
so that I too might weep
for life
I remember her as a fifth season
who came unheralded
and walked in beauty.
©David Mitchell
|
