Closes and Opens

A spectre haunts my frailty, a ghost I've forged of devilry. With dreams, awake, entwined, cold as listless lies and lives, phantom echoes of ancient angers arrive and cruelly wave as passersby, then smile. The fellowship's shattered, into ashes thick in black winds. Every cat's tail of nine slicing through my mind leaves paw prints of crimson mysteries behind.  Nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals / the power of your intense fragility. Lovely letters, in the dark night storms of survival, when I've jettisoned my soul, and dreams die derelict on ocean's floor, while others simply shipwrecked float as flotsam food for fishes - can you hand me the rope? You are waiting for another, my bathybic apparition, no matter, dear. Watch me flounder here. Salty eyes flood unnoticed in the sea, married to my maritime eventuality. This is a sodden and sorrowful swan song, as your look lingers across another open ocean, not mine, with spring sky eyes and stolen time. There's love in those eyes, not for me, not for me. And it anchors deep within my veins.

There's gold in grey days and silver in the skies. The sunny rays are forsythia smiles and the trees marigold denials of icy chains. The purple gates of dawn blossom wide, and an old locomotive thunders across the heavens, leaving billowing trails in cumulus piles.  What if a much of a which of a wind. Here is the rain awaited by leaves with all their trees and by forests with all their mountains. People stopping and listening - when the sea's overhead and below, where to go?
Where the sea meets the moon-blanch'd sand
Listen, as the finches flit and sing, the newts wiggle beneath the drops of rain which plunk against the lake-drum. Pay close mind to the vessel cutting gently through the loose-leafed wine of this intoxicating inland sea, above which the hooting owl with offset eyes swoops into the underbrush with frightening speed, and the goats clopping up the hillside stones bah and bleat away this autumn squall. Nothing so beautiful as sunlight and rain tricking light into rainbows across the lake and between the trees. There's love here, quite as strong as the infinite, beating brisk and bright.





"Do you believe in dichotomy?"
"I do, and I don't."


somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond
any experience,your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully,mysteriously)her first rose

or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully ,suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility:whose texture
compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens;only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands
~ ee cummings