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It sits dammed, damned
to my silence,
poem pre
worded,
felt as breeze on skin,
a summer stumble
without conceit.
I task at tasking
(a heart husbandry distracts me)
elsewhere and
it draws me back like a tide that swells
into mermaid song, liquid,
so I must
now
write
and be.
*
He said "I refuse to die
while you are in my heart"
and now I replay this
trickle
of rare and precious
that tell exactly
whence love emerges,
remains emergent.
Death
needs to be your lover, come
courting as execrable ills
upon your finite,
lower-case self
for you to say this
and not be afraid.
I am yours, too, infinitely.
*
Something sways and bows low
my inner gardens, a heartwind sudden
even while I ride my bike,
helmet a brain-barrack and shiny...
I'm not streamlined, wear peasant skirt
for cycling, have
a basketful of fresh-ground espresso,
chai leaves, flax & forbidden
cookies, glazed, all in brown paper.
And I could have bought cut flowers,
baguettes, wine bottles, but then,
I would have resembled
a calendar page
still life
so what-
calendar pages need deference too.
------
Of all known institutions, I attend only two: church, in my heart, and school, in yours. Both are subject to demolition. - Lucie Adams, 2007
It is only for poetry to know how many stanzas fit into one caress. - Lucie Adams, 2008
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Ontario village
