will
you like a single reed that stands in sand alone
that part buried which light finds reprehensible
and will bind and will not rise to reasons suns
that part exposed which freedom represents
though held and head swayed up defies its roots
i like a small sad stump whose calves and feet a green
and twisted thighs the down of spanish moss running in its worry lines
am arrow struck
stuck into my ribs that other stem
which was your double reed lies
part caught on my dry limbs as almost intellect and imagery
its will like its escaping length is mainly trailing cross the dune
the amber eyes of long years passed
drifting in the astral air look down at night
and weep for our disunion and wish that they
could heave us up and bind our roots to wings
that we might fly like nightjars
through the evening primrose links and barrows
monticules of ants and dark blue kale
so clinging barely clinging
claw upon existence face like the scratch marks cross my eyes
whose wounded aquea weeps downward through the yellow grains
where seas of ochre
skies of neon pink
fluoresce reflected in your amber gaze
intrigued and ambivalent they watch its shivered throes
dissecting all its movements like a spider