mercredi, juin 20, 2012

Hunger

It is an equivocal gift you give me
The generosity of a stranger
Forgetting was most convenient.
Awaking though not for the coward
Flooded I am
with the taste of days 
gone in which I was 
a part of 
world larger than this quiet byway.
Foot struck tile
Arms out
Whirling down the nave
Recollecting too
Counterpoint in 17th-century time
In the library near Julliard
A girl not yet a woman
Dreams she sees
Nijinsky dance
Diaghilev live
In the stacks in Lincoln Center
She lifts her head for a moment
Hears the music, the dance
L'apres-midi 
it is...then.
What is to come
for the woman who does not dance
or raise her voice in sweet polyphonic madrigals?
Methinks she can still hear.

lundi, juin 18, 2012

Fear


Writhing
Gravity pins me here
The stuff of nightmare
Yet I do not wake
Each window glued shut
Was ever open?
Enemies collaborators
Collaborators opponents
It used to be that moments of relief
Allowed gaze elsewhere
Distracted
Peace enough to
sleep
To walk
To smile
Now turmoil
Fare
Unfair
Yet mine