Love Poems Part III
| "SPLIT the lark and you ’ll find the music, | |
| Bulb after bulb, in silver rolled, | |
| Scantily dealt to the summer morning, | |
| Saved for your ear when lutes be old. | |
| Loose the flood, you shall find it patent, | 5 |
| Gush after gush, reserved for you; | |
| Scarlet experiment! sceptic Thomas, | |
| Now, do you doubt that your bird was true?" -Emily Dickinson |
The skull of my lark
Is split wide open.
She gushes
Fragrant,
Crimson,
Liquid.
My fluid
Magnant
Boils--
Muses up at me
With the reverberation of her
Beak
Whimpering into her
Eyelashes.
I brood;
Pace over her,
Unsure
Of the criminal
And the
Crucifix.
She sticks in between the rubber
Ceilings of my shoes--
Mended between myself and concrete.
I cannot
Escape
Her.
I pace her like a puzzle:
Maze into
Who I was,
And who I am:
The Coward who
Could not
Sever her delicate
Jugular sooner--
Her
Blue,
And
Vibrating
Throat.
[Who could not
Watch it as it died:
Sprouting forth
Flowers--
Gold to its call.]
Had I
Inclined her ear
To the sound of
A
Thin knife,
Piercing into her
Words--
Creating
Wounds of them;
Carving cavities
Out of the
Wholeness
Of her
Jubilee,
I could have loved you
Transparently.
