Tuesday, February 17, 2015

HEART THREAD 212 & 213


This is Book VIII of the Aeneid
we finally go inland here
where the dark river loves us
into the unknown interior of your house
where maples hang overslow waters
when we look down to see our faces we see nothing
the water has faces of its own
animals (this is all about animals) begin to talk now
we write home saying “animals talk to us now
what are we going to do with our silences
our precious silence?” but no letters come back
deer run right into us we can’t understand the crows.


I thought she was grieving in her ogival cloak
her face white but when I bent to console her
she was laughing she comforted me
she put words in my mouth I wake half-healed
have to live this clear thing not just know it
her word was sweet and I spoke it all day
in the dark country where everybody lives
keening sometimes or laughing at the faces
peering out from the hillside ancient still young
their skin soft as lamb’s ears pale as mistletoe
they look as if they remember me
but who am I now?