I am stunned by amalgamation
one body mixing with another
in gyroscopic glee, passion can
turn against itself, take for granted,
they say, passion ever unaltered.
Men gone down into the earth emerge.
AT THE BOTTOM OF A FRESHWATER LAKE
Love goes to bathe in the lake’s splash
where toes straddle the shore and squish.
Love, you are she in whom I bathe,
our fountain overflowing years.
Love, you say you can’t and then do.
When you pause, our glow does not age.
Love, the wreck was named for someone
who was not F. Scott Fitzgerald.
IN THE HOSPITAL OF MY HEAD
the stains become scars,
the other way round is not a circle
trap moths like birds, the dipper descending
into well water
I wake peeing from the medication,
I rage at beauties
daimon hidden among trees, barely glimpsed,
is it high up? There?
if the sky could speak
we would insist it learn to read and write
we have no tombs, we poor, headstones only
hear the worms murmur
where may we go when our watch is ended?
pull down gravity
(3, 5 February 2013)
copyright 2013 by Floyce Alexander