Saturday, July 10, 2004

The Now of it

That with which we are
surrounded, in which
we are set,

like a jewelled brooch
or a flower's centre,

we are shaped by.

The environs.

He said:
"This is the space we move
through, which moves about us
when we / do not move.

"In this bright white room,
with the picture window staring out
to sea by day, & at night reflecting
the small blue klee that hangs
like an icon above the fireplace,
                     you are beautiful.

"But when it storms outside
your face takes on the turbulence.
I am forced to close the drapes,
otherwise I lose my balance
seeing you buffeted by the tide."

The words surround her,
alter her to suit their shape.

She sees he does not really see her.
His world is earth, is sea, is rooms
of shadow; & she, as is the bird
in that painting by magritte, is outline
only. The content is another universe,
blue-skied, in which he poses her. She is
imposed upon. She is not content. Her
shape, his shaping - they do not coincide.

She leaves. He does not mark
her going. The words still hold her
in his mind. Spreadeagled on the bed,
the stones singing over him, he reads
about lee harvey oswald & the death of j.f.k.

The words surround him.
The influences, their confluence.
The twenty years, the ten, the now of it.


No comments: