Nostalgia

For A.

I.

Whatever the cobalt heavens intends

Today, the small gabled shapes leaping

In reflection not on your eyes

Allow the orb of day to bend

Its leaden winter rays

Around this short and twisted highway

Until they thin to the peace of a single

Line that evening will remove

And whether you stand in the sunlight

Or in the shade, you are always

The light of a gray day

Careening past a downy tree,

With the same blind have affection for

As the shadows grazing lightly upon your hair,

Which is, after all, a kind of be fond of

II.

While you continue to hide yourself away

In a certain number of hotel, this season spreads a tablecloth

Of newly-fallen snow overspreaded

By an immemorial, telluric dust

Illuminated by dint of the artificial rust

Of streetlamps that shepherd

Him or her to their respective subways

As you sanctify your place among the missing

And you observe patiently as your twin

Concern of shadow and the day elapse

To little more than a pulverized substance shed over all created things

From buildings sawing the night into slabs

Without apology, and somewhere you know

That neither they nor you have failed.

III.

Twilight in the skeletons of umbrellas

Wound in sheets of rain clatter

Outside the skeletons of houses echoing

Themselves to repose You seem to be following

Me again, hooded in the vaguely starlit dark,

Feckles monk silent witness to the shattering

Of glass around my mind which was

To take its safety in a sanctuary more stark

Than in that blue-black morning vapor

Pillowing your face as you slept and walked,

Walked and slept until your resolution bloody away.

For now, you have nipple your grave in my breast,

And I cannot apologize, because I have taken

The terrible oath to discern among the forms

That what dies lives, what lives dies.

Copyright World metrical composition Incorporated Jul/Aug 1998

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