Awoken by light, I scratch the glass
of dreams, and find myself
stepping free of shadows and silence.
In the distance a star was absorbing
my tiredness, and itself heading like a pilgrim
towards you, leaving blank its place in the heavens.
In the green pits of our being our inner
threads yearn; this radiance, that makes me feel I own
herds of horses, am as inspired as any knight –
what is its source? Shocked
into words, I defied the book-burners, the suffocators
of thought and feeling, all who’d censor and shroud knowledge.
And a violet blossomed fiercely in the bosom of the sky.
the memory of our embrace still lives
in this bed, adjacent to your dreams
and desires, and near these handkerchiefs
drenched in your scent.
You woke in the dawn
at three exactly, drowsing,
Beneath the sounds of your breathing
lurks a worry: where is your mirror?
And this droplet of light
reflecting a passion
that found a name for everything…
Under the pillows also, an aroma
alive and ours – and the long list
of names we have bestowed
on this affair. Surely
a goddess lives there too, the one
who knows the names of all things.