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Click here(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.
This poem was mentioned in the Archival Review thread, in a picking through Lit's archive of over 34,000 poems.
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Am 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?
...I guess I have something invested in this one myself.
The last one I read reminded me how good you are. This one reminds me why I love you. You can really see. It's a good feeling, reading this, and remembering who I am. It's a window, perhaps, into you... and that feels good, too.
Lauren - beautiful enough to make me cry, and so sweet. I love this one!
the bittersweet ending. A stunning and painful poem. Well done...
jim : )
...yes a real beauty...like a delicate prismatic bubble blowing in the breeze...thanks.