Speak -- As You Would Write

Come.
Come with me
And let us burn these words.

We uttered them between us,
Did we not?
And therefore they are ours
To keep or kill.

Let us unmake them.
Let us drain their sense
And cast their empty skins
Into the wind.

And perhaps --
The spirit might then knit itself anew.

Miserere

It is the spot of grace
That I address,
The shiver of the angel
At your core,
The place
Where you are God --

Comfort me.

You see how scorched I am;
You see I burn
Without relief or rescue,
Without help.
Only
You can help me.

Give me ease.

Your gentleness must grieve
At this harsh blaze,
Your kindness wish to succor --
Rain on me.
Divine,
You carry peace

Within you --

Rain on me.

(Sitting Still)

The muse of fire is not admitted here.
Imaginary forces have no right
To prick their proud hooves on this tender place
And print impressions there.
This is sequestered space.

Nor dreams-that-come-from-Zeus, let them be light --
As insubstantial as the wind, as frail
As fleeing ghosts that slip across the gaze --
Here no intruding sight
Assaults the wash of greys,

The shadowed lavender, and, lichen-pale,
The creep of green across the hemming wall.
This plot belongs to Mnemosyne alone.
And here things past assail
The senses till they drown.

Except when Lady Mercy pays a call.
She drops in uninvited as the dawn
And scatters balm like petals on the floor.
Unquiet waxes small;
And ease engulfs the sore.

(The House Without the Door)

I'll spatter you with acid.

In my hands
You'll study how to make the death's-head grin.
Your bones will smoke and smolder, peeping steam
Between the patches of your living skin.
I'll hear you scream.

But that won't be sufficient.

I'll get help
Let sister Famine teach you how to groan.
You'll gorge and crave, till, famished, platters bare,
You'll gnaw your hands and feet down to the bone,
No morsel spared.

I've other sisters also.

With their aid
I'll lock you in a nightmare pricked with wrong,
With whirling, windy voices, frozen fells
And black crevasses, and the cold that longs
For cozy hell.

You think I have no power.
But I do.
You think you've stolen all my pith and marrow
And every form of strength and will I had.
But I still have my sisters.
They will catch you.
My sisters, they will catch you, and you'll pay.

(Spring Scene)

See the river, splashed with sun,
Clear on pebbles, clear on sand.
See the pansies prank the slope,
Purple spattering the green.

How could you think it would alter?
How could you think it would stay?
This place is too big to be shattered.
This place is too small to sustain.

(Cypress Boat)

Lie!

I need a story.
Tell it to me, quick.

Do you not see?

My heart is not a mirror.
How can I compass all these particles?
Do you suppose that I can draw them in,
and sensibly reflect the way they look?

I need a legend.
I must have a tale.

I want it gaunt and speedy,
so thin the wind can whistle through its bones,
so spare the shadows cannot cling beside
the sharp-marked edges of its easy shape.

Please,

the dazzle hurts me.

please, please:
I need a lie.

(Zhong-zi, Please)

Meet me on the broad road,
Where all the ways converge.
It isn’t that I love you --
But let me see you there.

Meet me on the high road,
The track aross the ridge.
You’re nothing but a shard now --
Still, show me where you’ve been.

Meet me on the mill road,
The path beside the weir.
There’s nothing you can give me --
Still, let me pluck your sleeve.

Meet me on the hedged road,
Where hawthorn lines the lane.
I would not keep you long there --
Still, let me speak with you.

Meet me on the broad road,
Where all the ways converge.
It isn’t that I love you --
But let me see you there.