CLEARLY PRONOUNCING FAREWELLS


27

i

In the freezing nightgown of Meaning
Poetry is a torn Rapture
Chronicles of departing youth
Would it gladden you to think

ii

The dripping names to purify
With a few hundred goodbyes
Life after youth is Peace
On a fabric of loving repetition

iii

Writing is the changing of swans overheard
The voice in the silence that glows
The letter to another young Poet
The alphabets that want

iv

A vividness to distract
A laboratory of delicate Escape
Metaphors without movement
Inner time without false actors

v

Poetry is clearly pronouncing your
Spirit, for a moment with Everyone
As if I wanted to be a last star
There not so alone between the light.

BEHIND MOATS OF TWILIGHT


26

Close the door, said the whisper
To the shade, twilight is coming
Night will be here soon:

Assault of the slant of darkness
Ready to bring today to her death
On the altar of transitions
Like the Breath of the Earth

Through hours of fractured darkness
Where we are together or alone
In the room behind the curtains

Where shivering we arrive
Too frail to drive out the dark
With moths at the edge of light
And cobwebs moulding our invisibility

Our isolation of uneasily explored
Dark minutes, that’s where depression lived
In winters of the longest nights.