Horizon, 07.18.06

A thin horizon of pain along
the short line of my ribs,
a stabbing dawn of cracking light,
thunderous taste of pain –

it makes me think of
morning in my bedroom:
sunlight spilling through
naked windows, across the bed,
shafts and anchors of brightness.

the thin horizon arches,
curves up my back, carries me
to a throbbing noon, bell tongue
echoing the noise in my flesh.

* * *

What is the holiness of gates?
The boundary of midnight?
Do they watch, or are they simply watched?
The coils of the sun
burn away the remnants of sleep;
the moon cools the steps of the day.

The rain has subdued the fountain –
little faces of the sky scattered
evaporate without a word,
spindly tree in a circle of concrete –
drowsy, wind-worked, washed.

Storm perpendicular to the water
to the sidewalk to the slanted roof,
right angles with the day,
time dropping out,
fading from the start of the stars;
trying to define summer without negatives,
discovering impossibility at a certain age
a certain angle a certain angel…

all stories and humanity,
melody of torn tape and key clicks.

---
MWL
accepted end: 08.02.06