1. |
To Karolina
03:04
|
|
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|
Karolina by our
sense of where the law lay,
we load up on coal char
cover up our whole face,
cover each sentence
with a black snowfall,
with what God lent us
we can lend Sky dark
not for any old reason
or for any new one,
not that Sky would need it
except for that she knew us
when we brought her silver oxide,
darker than it was late,
pendulum upside
down until it’s upset
by whatever we wait
for with these black looks,
like oil in the sea change,
Karolina just look:
“...all this / is here eternally, just because once it was.”
Tables of science, laws of uncertainty.
Heart of gold, what’s in the arteries?
A person, a forest, climb to his canopy,
or richer than this, the floor of his nursery?
“As late as yesterday Nature celebrated their birth,
The news was brought to the mountains by a unicorn and an echo.
Their friendship will be glorious, their time has no limit.
Their enemies have delivered themselves to destruction.”
“That had an enormous amount of charm.
You pay for freedom.”
Karolina might our
rogue’s law yet save,
watertight the tar
yet to judge a rogue wave,
lacuna in the preface,
nowadays we skip those,
blind spot or rather red-shift—
we believe the visible
like what we haven’t,
what’s opposite the cover,
dust jackets in fashion
so to dust return the younger,
to clay and black coral
chalk where once was an equation,
Earth can only get so tall
before again we feed him
with portraits of loved ones,
let fall the holy gesso,
let the analysts have some fun,
Karolina just look:
“You should not analyze yourself.
You should not do something like I’m doing with you right now.
And if we’re going to do it?
We’ll assume all of that.”
Children of parents of children of paradise.
Constant is thanks, said only sometimes,
thanks for our strength, first for our demise,
then for our birth, of what was a reprise…?
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2. |
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|
Herein lie flywheels,
an inner lioness,
your bearings all but borne
a rainstorm,
spring’s four widths uncovered
under for which you’ve come,
two thorns,
like hammers
full of silt,
full of chance and rancid
wilted baby’s breath,
could you love
for what you lave for
partial summers, summing stones, tumbled over?
Savior, neighbor,
drown a crown of paper.
Save yourself by being braver.
Ice,
sulfite,
olive dust.
Manganese rust.
What less suspends rest.
You change me like a lake.
Twice by every method
find another likeness,
a blue shawl,
an iris.
Spring is misery quickly,
how and ever saddened,
is like Saturn,
practicing, ten rings, piano,
will inert,
will you hurt your
-self in turn, geometer?
Ridicule,
rid yourself of helpless
-ness this crossbow is a necklace.
Mystery, listing
times you let it bring things,
therefore, you were, drunk in its wellspring.
Drop.
Chlorine,
canvas sheet.
Half-submerged dock.
In your tears are salt.
Turquoise and wiry black.
Is this roof then a doorway
open only to your left hand,
the sky’s sky
before which your right stands,
or this first breath a breath at all
or else is it quarry,
or beneath this quarry
a breath
innocent
how in a centered way it takes
my breath away
like a flat stone,
like a shattered component
of what once you may have asked for?
Ever severed,
glass inside a feather,
spring’s great decay snaps with zero measure.
Slip,
shallows.
Wet-cyclic,
cesium gold.
This time with gusto.
Dear the spring of two springs.
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3. |
Children of paradise
08:53
|
|
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|
‘We’ you half-chose
to call home,
‘we’ you may say
in no way
rights you
or invites you
to stay,
children of paradise,
where did you go,
where did you go away?
‘We’ you light for
the night-door
‘we’ could come through,
but with no candle
its saucer
flies and hovers
and shakes,
children of paradise,
where did you go,
where did you go away?
‘We’ you can’t count,
makes gurgling sounds,
‘we’ full of spit
does what we did,
draws a bathtub
waits for no one,
and bathes
children of paradise,
where did you go,
where did you go away?
‘We’ I lathed outside-in,
taught to wallow in pins,
‘we’ slept as it swallowed
mastic and marshmallows,
then I tapped on its nose
and wouldn’t you know
it’s awake
children of paradise,
where did you go,
where did you go away?
‘We’ I wrote to
half-sober,
‘we,’ my first half,
write back
from your desk or your bed,
a roof overhead
or a lake,
children of paradise,
where did you go,
where did you go away?
‘We’ you told me
like a story,
‘we’ I cut terse,
like verse,
since words
are herds
astray,
children of paradise,
where did you go,
where did you go away?
‘We’ has no share
in its dark hair
which you fingered
so prefigured,
frightened
that we might have
to wait,
children of paradise,
where did you go,
where did you go away?
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The rose constants Ithaca, New York
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roseconstance1999@gmail.com
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