" Island (for Marty) "
In winter, loneliness spreads like an archipelago
and I imagine the night clings,
like ashes on the jacket you wore
the last time you saw her.
Time hangs from a jasmine;
you take its form and shape her into Bonsai
trimming the past in silent perfection
where every branch holds a flower
every leaf a loss,
and her return depends on the blossom--
the only perfume that shares your bed.
Across the Pacific, the quickening page
leaves just enough room to break open
my silence; a fan ticks, candle light flickers
and I apportion myself another round
of minutes before sleep takes a bride.
The room feels full of you and even
now I see your breath caught
in a Klein Bottle and I wonder how
you will survive.
© 2004 Emusing (Lois P. Jones)
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