Tuesday, January 26, 2016

the phantom poet: to E. r. Sill 1841-1887

his footprints on the shore cling even now:
long dead, but living still, i heard his voice,
soft, like wind comes whispering from the sea.
his words, unraveling time, told of a lock
broken on some lost door leading to the dark:

there, will this kindred other wait for me
with holy longing in his phantom heart?

but for a cog of time, our earthly lives
were destined to be shared, bound in spirit,
not severed by the clock. I feel his heart
beat in my breast, each beat a crystal word,
each phrase a sparkling rain of sweet syllables,
has it not been given? no strngers we,
how else explain the caught breath, the quiet tear?

Monday, January 11, 2016

Dedication of a mirror by plato

I Lais whose laughter was scornful in Hellas,
Whose doorways were thronged daily with young
I dedicate my mirror to Aphrodite:

For I will not see myself as I am now
And can not see myself as once I was

Memory art
Past Distance
If not to assume
but we wish to take time