You come here to sort the cold
You come here to sort the cold
meet in front some nude
embraced by a wooden frame
half pine. half as if the paint
needs the silence, covers her death
on a wall kept up to date
the way the journals report
on those latest lotions that dry
from the bottom up, let the corners
touch ̶ this woman was loved
and from among so many colors
given eyes that never close
sees you are holding a coat
already folded, held tight
as if something has gone wrong.
Over one shoulder a stylish urn
Over one shoulder a stylish urn
helped her undress though stone
could be anything it wants ̶ it’s winter now
and love has the sun to itself
is filling this fountain with a world all its own
̶ without any clothes she can hear
year after year the snow coming down
and from the same mountainside
lets you look though two suns together
are rare ̶ this nude even in the womb
must have been convinced her first breath
would arrive the way a stone held tight
becomes a wish when dropped in water
as if it was normal for a person
to be in love with another ̶ you stare
at the ripples, not sure where their happiness
is coming from ̶ year after year overflowing
as the promise inside all stone.
You soak both hands the way this puddle
You soak both hands the way this puddle
learned nothing from the mad, dived
head first to find a home in this world
̶ it was a warm rain, filled
with the helplessness still looking back
at how during the war every plane
was baptized, given a name
so everything you say facing down
makes room in your throat
as the opening words
someone who loves you will hear
in front your grave and stay.
Drenched in sweat her breath
Drenched in sweat her breath
jumps from your upper lip
covered with the cold air
you still gather at night
are reaching for this darkness
the way everything that flies
is falling all at once as rain
not yet white from the fear
any minute now a snow
will pin down the Earth
break everything apart, afraid
to stop and hear the thud again.
Like that umbrella you left on the train
Like that umbrella you left on the train
the moon is moving east to west
wants to be returned, held close
while its warm breeze opens
and over your head grows dim
is emptied then reaches out
the way the lonely go mad
look for a place that’s a there from here
where everything on Earth is lost
̶ what you once held in your hands
is still falling away, filling a great valley
with moonlight and the heaviness
keeping it in place so you dead
can find the rain with your eyes closed
and count the seats each evening.
© Bob Heman: 2021 collage – Genius Loci (color) – 13 Sept 2021 – (#2A)