The Gallery
Posted in Poetry & Prose on Apr 19th, 2008 2 Comments »
Dawn shadow slip from lash to hem, spill down the hollow halls.
Morning mother, marble milk, gloss her empty iris; cold, pale pearl, return a touch to broken cornerstone and pallor.
See goddess, sleeping, rest requite and rapture; rest the thrombling breast and rolling waist; rest, slow breath lover.
Still the lips, hush the high hour; conjure why the chin is bent, the pupil fixed, the ancient ache perpetuates; why something in me cracks and breaks, as if the artist took my bones and molded his pain from my own.
Then dark, fell the lamps and climb the veils, stir and whisper folded robes. Resurrect, sweep wing to wing, wake haunted souls; to immortal mortuary, linger memory mortal wound; widows weeping, faint as feathers, in their lovers’ catacombs.
