Thursday, 30 June 2016

memory

                                          Memory

I.          space the minute-hand blocks / sun
                                                             through window or door
                                                             upon the street
            index  of  memory.

            i called her once.  embarrassed heart / static
                                         fabric  of the pause
            brittle leaves in  the  corner  smell of urine
                                                           pain as dampness through the
                                                           tinder the wind gathered
                                                           amidst those trees

            her answers were the grass scars of summer.

II.        above  the  sea /  the atmosphere's quarry of thunder
                                                mutes the suburb
            we grew  as  the  avenue / the scrape of leaves
                                                       subdued beneath rain
                                                        sun private in the
                                                        passage of work
                                                        - a walk through its limpid
                                                            edge at dusk -
                                                        moon abrupt invented frames
                                                        - dream or bedroom sill -
                                                laundered our sorrow on the road.
            every street drove me through myself / i said 'you
                                                                        are its eternal aim'
            as shallowing waves web minute flotsam
                                                                 through the shell / i
                                                            willed myself into that grit
                                                                        of silence.
            sun on the street  gravity of the clock falls
                                       as hard / as unclear a touch above
                                                            the surface.

III.       my blindness crumbles at the rain / gust  sheaved  upon
                                                                                    g u s t .
            the swift skin of cloud on the asphalt obscures
                                                your imagined grief / severs it
                                                 its marrow a street faded from
                                                                        the sun.

IV.       ancient minute.  sun's bitterness on stone / rare alcohol
                                                                                   of jasmine a
                                                                                  sleeve's enshadowed
                                                                                    crease.
            as your drive toward mountains /
                                                remembrance:
                                                light as the camber's
                                                desert blade of water
                                                no-one
                                                reaches.
                                               
                                                                                                to A.G., K. J.
                                                                                                & J.R.

                                                                                                ponsonby

                                                                                                april 1982

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