Suite: Marianne

The days fall from my mouth
                like jars,
        and they break -
        glass and lids on a cold floor;
I see you gathering it all -
I love your hands.

The sun falls
on the empty room
between you and me.

*

I just talk it
        seems
        my words
                have no weight
and they come easily.
I sweat them out.
They are true words.

*

I have eyes.
I have days
spread on a table.
I have a heart.
My heart sears
my chest my ribs
my lungs; my chest
is the wall is the word
that the wind pounds.

I have no sorrow
on trees
hanging dead.

What lives now and now
cracks my
skull
with water
and downs

so deep in the harbour
we sail
under the scows

I say it is rich
you and I

on trees

(now I am funny and

do not want to be so -

I waver with the poem)

the eyes of you are eyes
I know from dreams
in white

(what I am trying to say will not work

I am here

and this does not work,

but it is not

a lie)

sleep on corridors
words pasted on walls
my hands chained
I want to hold you

        there is a surface,
        the sphere between our bodies,

                am I infatuated?

I have a moment

to sift

        the leaves

        are the wind

        is my chest

the poem ends.

The poem begins.

                        before I know
air and angels

                        I knew before

twice or thrice

        you are maybe

        from the dream

as all angels go

*

there is the dream of you
perfect in a white forest
in the dream you
        sail in green air
I see you

real your breathing
is the tempo of me is
the heart

there is the dream of you
I have
is me standing transparent on horizon
you turning to ocean your eyes slow rise
from the pebbles to the distance you see me
and decide

so real your breathing,
sweet trillium

*

here is the song of you
sweet mock orange
breeze
over the shoulder
the song of hesitation in the vapour

I look to sky
and ask
the limits

        birds with no legs
        leave
        that type of print
        on the porch

                        (I am a wise lover)
        the sun grins
is the laugh

sad mouth here
is the song of you

*

this is the dance of you

is the romance of you

I want to paint your motion

        atom motion

                (you are still)

(you are a still smile)

is the dance of you

        you roll with movement not tainted

        (you do not actually dance

                you beat)

real movement of endless waves

of here and sun

wrap me

silent

*

perhaps I hear a tone
beneath the water
pressing
wings to my temples
pressing
winding round
gut-coral colours
ribbons of egg shells
halved
raising up
like chains
up to the surface
where the waves stop

I see no face

everything stopped
I look for you

I take the ocean up
in a syringe
with a syringe
to me

I drown again

there is the laugh

*

        (there is the laugh I give to
                foolish similes
                        the laugh I give
                                with my greedy
                                mouth)

*

I am not a poem I am not a tale
I do not sing

I desire to be a saxophone

maybe I am a liar
        (I was a liar)

I am blood
true

I have no story
I cannot lie