Friday, September 19, 2014

A Meadow at Night

I am having the sensation
of a thing lost. 

A greater losing,

like losing a star,
it was small but 
the whole sky bereft is huge 
and aching. 

The pressure drags behind my eyes,
like calming a dog down 
before thunderstorm, 
autumnal pressure.

And meadows at night are still,
meadows at night are still meadows.

Somebody showed me a crystal ball
which reflected the world upside down. 

And it was beautiful that way, 
skewed vision, still a 
meadow at night.

I stuffed you with moss 
and all at once you were
alight and crackling.

Pull my nightgown above my head
as if it were night itself.

I will reveal the truer shape of things,
like daybreak. 

I'm only gnawing bones, anyway, 
only stitching lacerations,

only cradling bare feet like a broken
vestal, 

one that threw wide the doors 
and freed the sacrifice 


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