head arms legs thighs groin shoulders elbows lips heart
We wear our bodies grotesque.
If I could—
If I — could detach –
could detach self –
If I could detach self
from the earth, night, page,
cross, then I’d be as if elsewhere:
between darts, pulses, waves,
never reaching the same place twice,
into a world where
the wind suspends the breath,
and the air could displace a leaf,
a word, a sigh –
but here —
in this city we create in bar talk,
you speak in metaphor,
and argue that there is no beauty.
Driving on 128 North to Gloucester,
I saw Saint Theresa:
the color of
nothing other than the feeling of reality.