| In the dark outside
the lights
are on
of houses still awake:
luminous squares
that do not flicker
but are composed
and steeply stare
as they zigzag
describing
an even undulancy
as in a child’s
pigmented wash.
Almost edged out
against the skyline
are other houses.
Blurred
yet palpable
charcoaled hulks
confront the beach.
The ghostlier for
being floodlit, the sea
stops short.
But the waves
are real – compressed
mouths opening, black
and chill
and copiously hollow.
|
| City cast in shadow
caves, grottoes of dark
a dimness that slithers and clings
to walls, rugs
the contours
of sedentary things
my knee
a stack of books
and diamond-shaped wickerwork
while the rain beats
and in the hall,
touched by shards
of pale light
the floor absorbs,
oceanic,
the stairs where they turn,
banister rails
and curlicued supports
silhouetted on it hazily
before, coalescing,
they drown.
|
