"Alms"
"Alms are but the vehicles of prayer" --Dryden
i.
Against whitewashed walls
waves of blue, cranberries
float bright drops of loss
in a sea of consequence
there is nothing else.
Not blanket, red ribbon
broken thread, or a needle
to patch this grief--she is gone.
She is gone.
ii.
You say: "a woman surrounded by ghosts
cannot love anyone in the present."
My love, then. Who stands before you now
risen from froth, culled and curdled? She is
Venus who walks on terra cotta. Not ghost,
or imagined lover sewn out of air and need
broken parts and two half seeds of herself.
She is heat and allowance, she is solid.
Nothing moves beneath her eyes
but the floating kelp of your body--unfolding
tangle of hairs, finger, bones, comb.
© 2002 Mia
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