LESTOILLE
Take me to your heart he meant
said show me your favorite color.
I’ll listen with my eyes until you breathe:
decadent Chinese observation confuse mushrooms
back into light. Hold your breath in my hand while
mountain breeze hurries past us after the evening
always a little bit closer they say.
I say there’s a paradox snuffling around the vicinity
feel it the clouds are especially fake today
pry one up and see
its boyish knees, boy or girl, could never tell
from here, kneeling at the bedside other side
of the sky hurried prayers but mostly pity.
A child’s prayer is for our failed imaginations
for a child knows everything;
and all we know is everything else:
xing y, pour half a quart of water on my lap,
take notes. LESTOILLE: pour water back
(do I have to say where, or do we know already
back, itself, where it came from, put it back
where it belongs. The shape of shape!
cried the voice in the first language
I ever forgot) a lady
from the sun pouring water with her left
letting it jump back into the vase in her right
water going where it wants to go, back and back
back into the ship set sail at once for everywhere
someone cried I don’t understand what’s happening!
End second movement Tchiakovsky’s “Pathetique.”
And in the picture the sun strapped to a pole curled her hair around
his eye-fingers– dreamt the man asleep under the olive tree,
and ran home to stab and shoot and mangle the shadows
on his wall because this is the only way
to love, unchain the sun-light
give it back to her by the casket-full
light strewn like fresh hay on the dining-hall floor.
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