A garland of ruins.
Alan Marshfield
The Electra Poems
from “Sleep, Silhouette”
from crotch to chin our sweaty bodies held
and we arrived, gyrating breast to breast,
at motion like the motions of a stone
wherein we learned duration, beyond grief.
from “Genesis at Up Marden”
Stone cherubs, blind with time’s gangrene
from “Centaurs”
when we have been two centaurs from the start
and all night’s forest screams were waterfalls.
from “An Age Turns”
It’s a shame Brunelleschi’s stoa
survives as a blueprint to vex me:
Ruined garlands.
And so for day 1367
10.09.2010