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Three poems from "Rattle"
SILK WOMAN
The silk which she loves
flows against her skin,
the white silk spun
from a cocoon of words,
spun and shimmering in her dark eyes
against dark skin
which tells her who she is
and who she is not,
am I the moth inside
her mouth where words
form, silk cocoon dark skin
against the words of need
I did not say love
until which of us can tell
I cannot
who is the spinner
who, the moth
who, the silk.
DOVER
The cliff is white,
perpendicular to the sea,
covered with green
where the slope is kind.
I’m no farmer
but even I know
to not plant a seed
on up and down land.
So hold my hand
at the very edge
where safe becomes,
shall we say, slippery.
The cave is always near
where my monsters hide.
BEING HERE
We each
need water.
We each
need pain.
We can sit
under shelter.
We can sit
in the rain.
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