Butter and sun,
a yolk in a glass castle,
the yellow of all good gold,
your halo spun from your skull
streams out over the crowd
like that song you're singing.
Lyrics older than ages
iridesce like fingerlings
escaped into air,
your strings tuned
to lovers lying
low under stone.
Low under stone
the lovers sound
the high, fast flame
that burned them.
Touch it — it chills.
Clustered under earth
in earth-brown shells
lie the nymphs how many winters
under the roots of trees?
The lovers' voices sing:
you and me, we never were old,
though they sacrificed us.
Together we possess
the courage of gods.
Low under stone
hear us singing
in eternal love.
Your golden hair
the colour of Easter,
a resurrection in a glass cathedral,
echoes voices
older than ages.
From the roots of trees,
from earth-brown bulbs
clusters of blue-bells teem.
No comments:
Post a Comment