you go your way my love

blackwaterside (traditional)

One morning fair I took the air
That hung about black waterside
T'was a gazing path all around it
And the Irish lad I spied

All through the fog, the heart of the night
We lay in sport and at play
Till this young man arose and gathered his clothes
Singing 'Fair thee well today!'

That's not the promise that you gave to me
When first you lay on my breast
You could make me believe with your lying tongue
That the sun rose in the west

And so go home to your fathers garden
Go home and await your fill
And think on your own misfortune
That you brought with your wanton will

One morning fair I took the air
That hung about black waterside
T'was a gazing path all around it
And the Irish lad I spied

bad dreams

I.
the dreams have turned sick, and bad--
and dark,
dark movements of bodies and
horrible words are spoken--
i am lost, cheap, alone in them
so irreparably alone in them

II.
my baby is nearly vapor
with sorrow,
the baby within me,
the one which i am supposed to care for
unto the time that it can carry another,
and even after and for ever until
the abrupt and lingering end

III.
i think of what i cannot be all of my
forgotten days
i think of who i am not,
trickle my weeping bones

IV.
i am egg brittle and white;
if each face which i describe is mine
i am that moon drained of its
blood, that sad little bairn
buckled and torn by the dreams

my ghost constant

i have a ghost constant
his face sometimes shines pale like the brittle of an egg
and a light within it,

or like the nights of cold moon
which i look at,
there,
pressed against pitch

my ghost constant
feeding on the air of my dreams

there as i wash my hair in the shower
scrub my bent neck
and long feet.

i want to feed the ghost
books, songs, little boxes,
an ashtray, a chess piece,
a reminder
that i am squeezing the invisible
hand with my hand

i fear he consumes only
empty air

but for those moments
when his body touches mine
with life

tonight i learned i do not
love myself

it is a problem, a problem.

my days are

sitting at the loom loving you.

my nights are

sitting at the loom loving you.

perhaps while i am asleep

i love myself

and then forget,

and forget how.