Le paradis n'est pas artificiel …

Heather

posted November 7, 2014

(NB. a new arrangment of two poems)



i. la dangereuse

Few things are as beautiful as reindeer moss,


        glittering and drenched with frost; or the rattle of chestnut
brown leaves against the fall blue. Or the full lit moon, casting


        fleet, slip-away frostbows like evasive dreams; or my sister
hydroplaning in a midnight storm and wrecking her car.



ii. la noyée*

The last piano music I heard my sister play has just begun –


light through the greening heather of March, the distance between sprig and  rain


– snapped to a standstill in refrain: the rain falling, the sprig in a vase


and this in shadow to dissuade loss of colour, put out of the light


that final music: her hair untravelled by wind, curled up, kitten-thin.

*

posted November 5, 2014

You've not heard from me,
the hush writ listening to
rain, to fall, to you.

*

posted October 7, 2014

The tumbling compass
doesn't stray, nor the lighthouse
darken turned away.

*

posted September 10, 2014

Of mind to entwine
like the first time day after
day the long white page.