CIRCLE (I)


I put a spell on you
as strong as a pensive woman can,
and your eyes
will be thirsty,
drinking from their own dismay.
I dwell beneath
a lantern since then.
Hopeless. Pallid.
Nevertheless, more sure
with non-events to recall.

I am merely a subtlest
instrument of a major
patterned design.

I will write my spell
in the circle of recall;
it will became autumnal,
ancient,
but as long as you live
it will be intact.