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untrammeled

how should i write of such to one
who could not ever read what i say in what i write
when i shall never speak a word nor shatter that recurring dream
i've had with any sound more grotesque than sleep?
i will merely end in finding trivia burned and shredded
crossed out, or (worse) altered for some Other deepness
in lieu of any final draft.


and here i twist your curling mouth back into my morning reverie
of smiles you forsook some years ago when last you burned your lips
across my thoughts, consciously:
such a precious gift you made of all my mirroring
(as i learned well from you, returning all you gave without a word)
until reflections magnified the glare above the wick
and you retreated into former, less-intruding night.

© 1968, Sugarpie Rabbit
Next The Odyssey of the Peerless Idiot Back


In the Face of Love: The Book of the Beloved
SPR © 14 February 2007, Sugarpie Rabbit