"Cosmodrome"
'From the bottom of the pool, fixed stars
Govern a life. ' S. Plath.
A year can feel a lifetime.
There are never enough of mouths
or of fruit. Warm necks and
yearning are a partnership governed
by song of the evening bird.
The distance slow to unploughed
fields beneath canopies of hands
and a darkness.
There is only one hour. One death.
One heaving room. But there are suns
enough for trickery. Want
comes with a deeper bite. Amid
perishables it is the ache left
that rumbles.
Gnaws. Desirous
to be bitten, bitten more;
heart to the lumbering mouth
and a ripening.
I elongate, peak, rhombus
I quiver,
imperceptibly dying, reborn
and again.
Orbiting
with skeins of pearl:
this cold structure of stars,
this scorched line of stars,
and a silence.
© 2007 Zefuyn
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