Ceilings &
Stardust
The ceilings press in four-letter phrasing,
drawing in wailed echoes of cities past,
abandoned steel structures left to
weather's withering rust and postering
placards of ward councilor memorials,
and here in this I thought to ask:
was I cohabiting your heart with the
stucco laundromat lettering, rapid twining
the first fallow Fall night before clocks
are set an hour back and when
bus journeys beggar the daybreak half-sweated,
whether milling rough or bureaucrat smooth?
It was those beleaguered wishes: torn pages
bathed in memories' Paris Exhibition twinkle-light,
diving off one cliff spire as two fractions
defeated, and hear crashing midnight's bell
toll beating in crested waves on bloodied
shore; it was nothing, but I thought I'd be there
when you'd sing from the basements of Bar-Ilan,
spirits beautied, beatified, drawing on dusk's desert
of endless, radiant orange-red, as I
gave way, in finality, to Northern starlight.
No comments:
Post a Comment