Poems

From straightjacket

Morning 2007 May 8

(Written several months ago now being cleaned up)

Light finds dark on a street corner, takes her in, warms her, feeds her a little and asks for only what she can give and no more. Light overflows with generosity, with love. Light knows this and loves this too. Light knows too, somewhere in the dark corners of his memory, that there is much time behind all this, that dark was not always cold, that there once were warm summer nights, when in the comfort of dark, hearts and jasmine blossoms would open to release their secrets.

Dark too remembers all this, she remembers it better, deeper, with her body and the marks it carries, the scars, tree roots following her veins, inside and out.

But dark does not speak. The words are still, immobile, her body will not let go of them. Just as well: even if they were to escape, to fly out, they would be birds of a lost flock, dodos, giant emus...words of lost tongues: noise. Both remember what happened to the birds and the jasmine blossoms and the revealers of secrets in the warmth of dark: their burning gives light his brilliance, fuels his love.