Acknowledgments
Copyright
Special Thanks
Luna Moth
Luna Moth
Luna moth
at the black window
I hold you in my signal-memory
but I can’t get back to how to talk to you,
silent as the black window.
Silent as your body
little book
on which
I in my hunger wrote.
A Child’s Drawing, 1941
A woman ladder leans
with her two-year-old boy in her arms.
Her arms & legs & hands & feet
are thin as crayons.
The man ladder
is holding his glass of bourbon,
he is coming out of the child’s drawing
in his old open pajamas —
he’s in the war. The sky
is blackest crayon-canyon.
When does he leave again? When he leaves,
I leave. I like that river the sky.
1943: The Vision
I saw it when I was nine
alone looking into a shed
a human head cut in two lengthwise
in profile, lifelike, in a museum-size
glass jar, on a shelf.
I knew what it meant:
You must put the head back together again.
How could I put the head back together again?
But I promised. Everyone promised: dark eyes
to dark eyes.
Forest, Stars
Now the stars didn’t show:
It was after the forest fire,
after her friend had lost his thinking
in the war — after
he had come upon a silence:
blood saliva semen her
Her last year
Rest your mouth.
Rest your music.
Rest your walking around. Sit down.
Drink. Eat.
With my eyes, I see you eat stones.
I see you eat bones.
You eat mud. You eat the light.
I don’t recognize anything.
Not a sign, a cut, a knife, a dark wood, a net.
I recognize everything.
The sign, the cut, the knife,
the dark wood, the net.
for Marina Tsvetaeva
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
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