- Non-Erotic Poetry
- Bathyl II
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(for Tracy)
This time I forgot my name, I forgot everything.
I let myself be taken by a wind that shook
warmth off my heart and veins off the leaves
of the trees, bent outside.
I'm not afraid.
The truth is I haven't yet searched
the memory, or even the hidden figures in the sky
nor the segments, which divide on my map
the countries, gods, slaves, navigators.
Shapes lose meaning in a thunderstorm.
You listen to time.
It's the imponderable logic of sounds came from heaven,
losing space on the way and making home in
the most remote fountains of self.
This time all was too much. I lost Venice,
didn't lose much. I lost Byzantium, lost a bit more.
But the blue, the colour, the mystery, the ocean, the ocean, the love, laying
by the poem of your seashore...
Now the undercurrent of water, of white lava, is a fountain of sound.
Hisses and whistles. Hurts.
The summer.
The symmetry.
This time I forgot your name
and lost everything.
- COMMENTS
LeBrozover 17 years agoThis poem was mentioned in the Archival Review thread, in a picking through Lit's archive of over 34,000 poems.
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Anonymousover 19 years agoAm I the only one who thinks this writer is so full of herself that she only strings words together without any concept of form or shape?
