figureofdismay: (Default)
[personal profile] figureofdismay
Oh you creatures of endless hope
who wear but do not soften
even when faced with days limned by fire,
cracking open, fearful, like fallen jars,
the spoiled promise of preserves vouchsafed
by fruitful seasons that once walked broad and mild
now made over in dust and withered cane,
even when stretched taught and made to stand ready,
guard the gate
or sit with thimbles, in the night,
pricking needles, pricking thumbs.
Vast, dim bricks of wayward thought,
you will find no great shelter there,
only things that grow there, dark and sweet
which may be crushed and mixed,
I know their portions well.
And this remedy I therefore make,
a kind of soft reprieve,
might let you love me more (enough),
might let me find my sleep.
We bow our heads towards the soft breath
that rises calm
from the woods of endless dream,
and finding comfort there, begin
as tending voices greet the dawn.

Date: 2012-10-12 01:54 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
very rich images - a meal's worth of them I think. Too many favorite phrases to list on the kindle. The jars - fearful of falling to dusty ruin stay in my mind as does the things that grow dark and sweet - to be crushed and mixed as a remedy. Love the feeling of that last section bowing our heads towards the soft breath etc.
Such irony that you write of the elusive calm of endless dream - when the poem chose to come and broke the path to actual sleep.


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