Friday, September 24, 2010

this unpieced place

I could almost see ahead of me
a night of drink, perhaps love

How many like me have come home
cold and dead from such nights
from such love

I could nearly see ahead of me, stars,
bleak horizon and the jagged lost line
of inkblack mountain

From that darkness emerged
dark fountains, flowers found,
the faces of women,
so seemingly, some so beautiful

some shadows, no sound

sensuous but already blossomed

faded, and failed
in that nameless instant,

and now us

You and I in this unpieced place
where unknown
we fall into the eye of the unnamed

After all this night, death, half-funny
another daze, demised.

sculpture not carved of stone
but of want, and blame

anonymous death, half-funny,
half lame.