The Daughters of Quiet Minds: April 2008

Thursday, April 24, 2008

and I drink and drink
and fall down on the pavement
and you are not there.

In the car, as a
boy, the clouds were fed blue fumes,
I did miss you then.

drying like velvet,
the bloody smear on your tum,
you fly with one leg.

a thrush brushed by me,
black in the darkening dark,
it did sing, briefly.

Beyond those windows
a great wall of ivy climbs,
dying in the light.

and in the churchyard,
sunning themselves on the grass,
old carrier bags.

I write by moonlight,
intelligible nonsense,
every word true.

The weather's upset:
ice-cloud and raindrop sun drops
down into your heart.

Karma cooks, slowly,
flowering in the dull yard,
pulling weeds by night.

the night fell navy,
like a spilt barrel of blue
down the window pane.

a seagull watched me,
I watched him from the window,
we watched each other.

rain soaked my cloth pumps,
you crossed at the lights, all dry,
your cheeks painted pink.