Pomes 1.10.17

Untitled (Naked)
In the morning
the air is cold.
I light a fire and smoke
trembles from the woodstove
to greet me.
Last night I opened
the windows to share music &
sweet darkness with the
trees in the ravine,
and we passed an hour
in each other’s company-
as you would in wordless familiarity
with old friends.
But nightmares took me away on
cacophonous wings &
though my body stayed,
I was gone.

In the soft newborn light I see
the trees are still there.
They never leave,
only wait with ancient patience
for my attention to return to them.
I slip out of crumpled nightdress
and stand,
naked to them as they are to me-
skin wrinkled and scarred as
the bark on the cedars.
All of us equally bared to the ravages
of wind & time.

My bath is steaming and ready.
The air is warming from the fire.
Outside the trees
drink the rain
and a breeze blows through
from the south.
We all shudder and sigh and
lean in a little closer.


On Reading Anna Moschovakis
I am in the bath reading Anna Moschovakis,
and watching the candlelight reflection on the side of the tub.
I wonder how to bridge this gap
between my body and other bodies.
My jaw is aching again from clenching my teeth.
I think others must not have these problems-
of gaps
of holding muscles so tight as to be absolutely still
I know that they do.
That doesn’t help.
I have the email of Anna Moschovakis.
Will I use it?
Probably not.



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