Tuesday, February 5, 2008

Morning

And so this morning lights up
All the despairing immobile corners
All the chairs where grief shabby sat
The gardens, your little house, my studio
It touches our skin and our children’s
skin and our belongings and our aching
heads, it fills out the bleak day after
the blackened night after the wailing
day of screeching red news

It lights up all the busy things in these
clanging hours of redundant framings

It detonates the silence of that desolate
sleep we went to bed for, pushes into the
past those hours of brief escape from
this sadness that follows this morning
around like a copyist walking crablike
with his heavy hands in his pockets

2 comments:

satinwhitedog said...

oh. this is heavy. brilliantly wrote. completely filled the senses as i read it. perfect and precise in its image delivery. i love the way you are breaking your lines on these works. it seems to have a different flavour than your other page. :)

bruce_dorlova said...

how sad.