doom eager *
because one of us
took a spike to the lung
a minivan to the chest
hit the beach with his heart
to say nothing of the one
whose only breath was broken water
because I believe
the hand, the wound, the moon
is how I show you where I fell
through the hole I thought I was
diving for pearls through the green
fuse of ice in my dream of you
because I run naked
through the forest on a moonless night
with a penlight in the hand that broke
my mother’s heart waning at the seed
of light the moon won’t show me
because its dark side calls all of us
because I believe
I’ll find your heart in the east
your marrow in the moon
fever just before the sun rises
I’ll swim for it all day forgetting
how the earth turns east south west
circling all night forgetting
there is no moon
in the new moon
because the only way out
is my hand on your chest
I walk the shore all night
dream back the back of the moon
because the only cure
for the wound
is the wound
* after Ibsen, Graham, Moore: an Icelandic term for the isolation, restlessness, caughtness an artist experiences when sick with an idea
Leave a Reply