THAT HOUSE
I grew beyond the reaches of the floors
beyond the bounds themselves bound by their binded doors
I knew beyond the reaches of this house
lay one painted with a mingling paint
fastened against this new-found bitterness.
And I grew, I grew to know
how others ventured still
beneath the eaves with timorous ear
or under shadows at the attic stair
surrounded by the glutton of the house
espoused from stars, dignified from glass
growing empty in this faint distress
I quit the word when I lay dear
I quieted the noisy pause
that quickened my puppet heart
in the absence of an hour removed
from that flashing death of changing light
The quiet song lingered on my tongue
as though to linger on its quiet song
as though to sing quietly my lingering
as though to linger on my quiet, singing
how silence falls, and everything springs up.
POETRY 2005-2006
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