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rejectomorph

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Chill Still [Oct. 31st, 2010|11:33 pm]
rejectomorph
So the rain failed today and the sun came out, but night has turned cold. Damp rises from the ground and hovers like invisible fog. The chill air doesn't stir, but leaves fall. I must select a book to read. This is the sort of night that demands a book and a blanket and a purring cat. That quiet does not want to be broken by a television or the hum of a computer. The turning of pages will echo the falling oak leaves. A lamp's pooled light will show proper respect for the stars.




Sunday Verse



A Form of Women


by Robert Creeley


I have come far enough
from where I was not before
to have seen the things
looking in at me from through the open door

and have walked tonight
by myself
to see the moonlight
and see it as trees

and shapes more fearful
because I feared
what I did not know
but have wanted to know.

My face is my own, I thought.
But you have seen it
turn into a thousand years.
I watched you cry.

I could not touch you.
I wanted very much to
touch you
but could not.

If it is dark
when this is given to you,
have care for its content
when the moon shines.

My face is my own.
My hands are my own.
My mouth is my own
but I am not.

Moon, moon,
when you leave me alone
all the darkness is
an utter blackness,

a pit of fear,
a stench,
hands unreasonable
never to touch.

But I love you.
Do you love me.
What to say
when you see me.

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Comments:
[User Picture]From: daisydumont
2010-11-01 03:43 pm (UTC)
we're going from late summertime to early winter so fast this year. there wasn't quite enough of the autumnal warmth that i love best. but the colors are good!

i hope portia obliged by purring as you read.
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[User Picture]From: flying_blind
2010-11-02 02:48 am (UTC)
So far the leaves here are mostly brown. The dogwoods are starting to turn, though, so there will be some red soon.
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