A Composition

[Lykren]

Glimpsing ice through clouds of leaves,
the mind gleams and whirls on the surface,
then sinks, delivering silence.

Distance is no object.
The unpearled sun’s life
rolls and rolls around the lips

of newer carnal blooms.
Rosehip rain is clean and clear.
The garden shoots forth,

agapanthus, mallow,
livid mouths cradled
by moving light,

noons and dawns acceding
to a moon buried under
eyelids hard and crystalline.

The forgetting is what I recall,
a fog so intense it could itself be loved.
The shock of day, then,

brought back threads and whispers
of weariness. Like a knife-edge,
time blurred the soft equation

of song and madness.