If You Seek Me

 


       Mark the proximity
       of what is not.
       The place of emptiness
       where I lay
       and lean on shadows
       that fill each space,
       the screaming not nearness
       held at bay.
       My pillow damp
       with the sweat of dreams,
       blind to the scratches upon this page,
       knowing such marking will betray
       all silence, all secret rage.
       This is what moves me 
       See this and know :

       I am the child that sees
       with her hands
       silver threads
       connecting the stars,
       and all the points
       there invisible
       rushing in to fill the void.
       Neither black,
                     nor white,
       nor grey,
       but magenta
       and cornflower blue,
       russet of barley,
       gold of maze,
       a myriad of molten hue.


      And I'll gorge with this gluttony
       of the blind
       to read with fingertips
       your stranger's face
       feasting  across
       lips
            and  pulse
                 and  breath,
       to a place far back of need
       and fear
       a place to sleep, to rest

       And  recollect there
        a time
        I danced solid,
       tossing  pearls to the ground;
       knowing nothing of fallen crumbs,
         snatched up,
               wolfed down...
       Time  was  I grew
       sleek  and  sated and full,
       gloss of honey in my throat;
       dozing on all the richness
        the touch in my hand
        I owned.

       Slowly sliding in...
       sliding out...
       innocent of care,
        (I thought never ending)
       tenderness of air.

       And if you seek me,
       know and  see
       I grow transparent
       day on  day,
       damp with the sweat of dreams
       and lean on shadows
       that fill the space
       the not nearness
       in between.