Kimono
The woman on the other side
of the evergreens
a small boy is hidden in,
I'm wearing
valleys, clear skies,
thawing banks
narcissus and hollow reeds
break through.
It means the world to him, this flat
archaic fabric
no weather worries.
Each time I bend,
brushing my hair, a bird
has just dipped
through its sky out of
sight. He thinks
I don't see him, my little man
no more than seven
catching his lost stitch of breath. . .
What he sees,
in my garden, is the style
of the world
as she brushes her hair
eternally beyond
the casual crumbling forms
of branches. I bend
and the reeds are suddenly
ravines. . .How soothing
it is, this enchanted gap, this tiny
eternal
delay which is our knowing,
our flesh.
How late it is, I think,
bending,
in this world we have mis-
taken. Late
for the green scrim to be
such an open
door. And yet, even now, a small
spirit accurate
as new ice is climbing
into the gentle limbs
of an evergreen, the scent rubbing off
on his elbows
and knees, his eyes a sacred store
of dares,
to watch, as on the other side,
just past
the abstract branches, something
most whole
loosens her stays,
pretending she's alone....
Created by
guccipiggy
Last modified
2005-03-17 09:04 PM
