Monday, August 14, 2006

Parting Words

for Kathy Godfrey

were not once one thing
but many interactions
lashed under mud over rock
at the river, or
furrowed shale of oak bark
ribbon of May ivy.

...walking away from me
the pastoral comforts are
piss to the nose? Although
the natural facts of which you are
reflection could fan your fearful leaving
with breeze that lifts ash seed
from dandelion
shuttles dust
toward new fire.

You are going to Spain.
I am not going to Spain.
The time is improper. More
I don't have a ticket for the ship.
It's sad? It is then that I am leaving
since I am not leaving.

Shapes will not glut
memory, but the odor
of oranges we ate that
afternoon with no
sentimentality as distance
has created, swells, and colorfully
oranges elicit a sense of health,
when peeled the pocks of the rind
spray the joy that groves allow
and inside, cells of fruit
have such fresh wetness
that moistens the dry mind.

I am brushing back the rind
of my hair, and taking a wedge
of memory from the sectioned globe
I see your face's presence and
eating the odor of your laughter
remembered is not sour.


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