Le paradis n'est pas artificiel …

January 28, 2013

'The Shortest Night', by Yusef Komunyakaa

I went into the forest searching
for fire inside pleading wood,
but I canít say for how long
I was moored between worlds.
I heard a magpieís rumination,
but I donít know if its wings
lifted the moon or let it drift
slow as a little straw boat
set ablaze on a winding river.
I learned the yellow-eyed wolf
is a dog & a man. A small boy
with a star pinned to his sleeve
was hiding among thorn bushes,
or it was how the restless dark
wounded the pale linden tree
outside a Warsaw apartment.
Night crawls under each stone
quick as a cry held in the throat.
All I remember is my left hand
was holding your right breast
when I forced my eyes shut.
Then I could hear something
in the room, magnanimous
but small, half outside & half
inside, no more than a songó
an insomniacís one prophecy
pressed against the curtains,
forcing the ferns to bloom.

"Poetry", 09.10.

Posted by Delire at January 28, 2013 03:33 AM