1
Open the box
See? It fits
in two parts
Hand and eye
Will, Vision
Patience and
your resolve
•
In your hall
wrapped cool
in black fur
a first home
this warming
mother scent
you remember
Soft embrace
in a nightly
Dear desired
I have asked
patiently to
speak to you
but you have
not answered
Goddess then
A frost just
asked when a
lady walking
warm wrapped
in black fur
passed again
by this wall
arresting an
overfull man
rounding the
corner by an
archway over
a flower bed
where a path
laid by some
gardener who
was tendered
as he tended
to passion's
moving thing
Proving thin
can grow fat
where joy in
labour joins
method to an
intent as it
leads to the
order sought
conscious or
not. Does it
much matter?
Egg or bird?
The thing or
the thought?
Home is what
we whispered
as we lay by
warm hearths
where gentle
speaking was
the order of
the air with
which breath
passed forth
returning to
our enriched
hearts where
our loss was
gladly, that
one unwanted
thing itself
we'd yearned
to be rid of
Overfull man
rounding the
corner by an
archway over
a flower bed
arrested one
warm wrapped
lady walking
and wondered
who arrested
whom? Flower
strewn petal
arrangements
lay on black
narrow berms
of earth. In
the electric
lighted lawn
grass strips
and loam was
in them both
one filigree
fine pattern
which petals
concurringly
did complete
Imagination?
Projection's
perceptions?
Structure of
reality? and
what then? a
solution? an
answer? plan
of assembly?
Instructions
Reading them
What a chore
A walk close
to this wall
could change
our thinking
Near a white
plaster wall
full-charged
with current
an entranced
trunk stands
balancing on
one foot. On
the hairs of
the arms and
throughout a
whole inward
frame I feel
gripped by a
gods buzzing
bristling of
pure force--
Are we ready
for jolting?
Come on then
bring 'em on
those little
extra pieces
pierce amour
full-armored
rattling all
organs which
you threw in
furtively of
an afternoon
but searched
to construct
in day again
after nights
vain, hoping
that when at
midnight, at
its stroking
these pieces
extra pieces
may assemble
themselves a
fit model--a
flying thing
For all toys
and even joy
seem in this
mortal realm
to just rust
dust, as did
flying's son
when the boy
fell aground
while called
forth from a
dream to fly
an action to
which intent
grave itself
must lead us
to a testing
toying model
Sighing sign
singing by a
soaring wing
The open box
hollowed out
to fit these
photographic
images, long
cherished in
lonely dusks
where violin
music called
from strings
recalled the
deep springs
from which a
memory draws
this antique
plastic wing
back to hand
Vision, will
and patience
Your resolve
to fashion a
remembrance:
an aeroplane
2
Open the box
one birthday
and you will
find there a
swirling ice
cream freeze
beautiful an
image beheld
as it begins
to melt into
an icy glaze
Last night's
kiss, caress
at cock crow
flew, though
every pore's
mouth sang a
song its ear
perfect knew
It seems sad
perhaps it's
natural that
our rise and
shine to the
world's work
should spell
an exit from
Eden's realm
where a wall
broken piece
by piece was
dissolved in
our electric
charge as it
wrought that
flesh change
exchange and
which ending
was replaced
by a need to
open the box
in the world
and organize
these pieces
12 character
per verse--a
little flute
trembling in
the throat a
chord played
from a bough
bowed from a
bellied bole
aimed upshot
to His cloud
from where a
golden misty
rain fell up
from a heart
the leaf let
fall up from
a mouth. Old
newspaper on
the pavement
twisting and
a paper bird
winding rose
Up! Up! came
calling when
man was then
youth and an
airplane sky
bloomed blue
and rose new
within him a
sighing song
you remember
See? it fits
Youth in age
Age in youth
Lovers lying
loving truth
Man with God
Songs within
Seed in womb
we all begin
Babe in arms
Arms embrace
All one Soul
face to face
Goddess then
who taught a
bough-broken
baby's swing
support when
cut could be
an ell stick
Hollowed out
the template
being you--a
little flute
Also the apt
divining rod
be fashioned
attracting a
water-wooden
source to it
One daughter
then you are
as childless
the pregnant
messenger to
deliver seed
To childless
men you tell
such arts as
men may need
to till them
all men as a
crop to soar
into blood's
fertile core
so that in a
drear moment
a word would
chime as the
phrase least
remembered--
Note next to
one unheeded
the one lost
Goodbye then
Simple words
remembered--
Goodbye kiss
The deed our
intention to
return to us
from I and I
the pleasure
as you liked
to say--that
anticipation
of cherished
moments I am
slow to know
as your mind
all mornings
a hot coffee
cup unbrewed
You are best
latest, long
day followed
in whistling
conversation
as I've seen
you there at
fence picket
by bird cage
a sound come
from between
your teeth--
chirping, in
a sweet tone
You stood up
rose tip toe
to sew songs
to the wings
of songbirds
What then is
our rankling
reticence--a
wrangling in
defence that
marries with
an ill habit
of regret, O
solitude out
of which the
soul seeks a
door--desire
the thin key
to unlock it
Desperate of
acts! You're
spore; blown
alone a leaf
in the drift
where vacuum
sucks, hurls
spiralling a
spar-stem in
gusts toward
an avoidance
A bitterness
The taste an
unlikely one
to better us
marring what
beauty, sent
to us from a
red hot Mars
and O, Venus
a warming of
breath's lip
slid-slipped
breast's tip
across chest
glided crush
dust, O dust
without love
The gas tank
an affection
machine near
empty desert
sands scrape
a bared soul
Two hands at
a waist belt
buckle flash
trapped dark
excitement a
disgust with
horror mixed
and pleasure
So she stood
next morning
at the glass
an old dress
hanging from
a rusty wire
The holes of
her bathrobe
a spider web
masking such
odd exulting
secret power
Betrayed, he
you betrayed
trusting not
this passion
fleeing from
fleet Apollo
following at
flight speed
clumsily, in
song's ardor
And your ear
a split limb
concealed in
a dark arbor
Praying thus
for a kindly
father's aid
a frightened
quaking form
clung rooted
forever cast
as the waxen
green laurel
•
Here our way
forks from a
forest floor
Whitest this
a lily grows
under acorns
Needles fall
from spruces
Cone at pine
tip branched
here topples
Seeks a soil
Sends a root
shoot to sky
branching in
one filigree
air and tree
Scantling in
half-light--
border light
separateness
Sweetness us
the lips are
still tingle
tart and the
fingertip to
fingertip to
squeeze; the
ten fingered
temple built
of two hands
Up above the
wood rafters
The two beer
on the table
Tingling lip
still ghosts
With them we
will play to
© 2001, 2020 Dan Goorevitch
