The time I lied to you
about the butterfly. I always wondered
what you wished for.
What do you think I wished for?
I don’t know. That I’d come back,
that we’d somehow be together in the end.
I wished for what I always wish for.
I wished for another poem.
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What can I tell you that you don’t know
Forsythiaby the roadside, bywet rocks, on the embankmentsunderplanted with hyacinth —For ten years I was happy.You were there; in a sence,you were always with me, the house, the gardenconstrantly lit,not with lights as we have in the skybut with those emblems of lightwhich are more powerful, beingimplicitly some earthlything transformed —And all of it vanished,reabsorbed…
We’re all dreamers; we don’t know who we are.
Then back to the world, polished by soft whips.We dream; we don’t remember.Machine of the family: dark fur, forests of the mother’s body.Machine of the mother: white city inside her.And before that: earth and water.Moss between rocks, pieces of leaves and grass.And before, cells in a great darkness.And before that, the veiled world.This is why…
You’re stepping on your father, my mother said,
of a bed of grass, mown so neatly it could have beenmy father’s grave, although there was no stone saying so.You’re stepping on your father, she repeated,louder this time, which began to be strange to me,since she was dead herself; even the doctor had admitted it.I moved slightly to the side, to wheremy father ended…
Sometime after I had entered
people prefer to allude to in othersbut not in themselves, in the middle of the nightthe phone rang. It rang and rangas though the world needed me,though really it was the reverse.I lay in bed, trying to analyzethe ring. It hadmy mother’s persistence and my father’spained embarrassment.When I picked it up, the line was dead.Or…
You see, they have no judgment.
first the ice taking them inand then, all winter, their wool scarvesfloating behind them as they sinkuntil at last they are quiet.And the pond lifts them in its manifold dark arms.But death must come to them differently,so close to the beginning.As though they had always beenblind and weightless. Thereforethe rest is dreamed, the lamp,the good…
I regret bitterly
Your presence and absence, regretThe law, the vocationThat forbid me to keep you, the seaA sheet of glass, the sun-bleachedBeauty of the Greek ships: howCould I have power ifI had no wishTo transform you: asYou loved my body,As you found therePassion we held aboveAll other gifts, in that single momentOver honor and hope, overLoyalty, in…