the yield of a time-squeeze
the issue of rain and landscape,
call it what you will,
but there was a moment
when a certain I I know
met a myself as familiar.
It scrambled the galaxies
reconfigured the ageless play
of doorbell and welcome
the eternal stay-go
the banishment of self from self.
And then it rained,
again.
There was, I suppose, another time-squeeze
a signatured breeze this time,
the tossing into unmapped orbits
an elemental fracture in fact.
Death, some might say.
[From the collection 'Threads,' shortlisted for the Gratiaen Award 2007]
LEAVE A COMMENT
You've a certain dreamy feel to your words.. which is very eloquent ...
ReplyDeletebut we the readers sometimes have to ponder on what you really intended to say...
But I guess... it's the whole point...
the basic of being a poet... being elusive to the words...
Beutifully mystic words...
What was intended is irrelevant What you read is yours.
ReplyDelete