all the leaves are brown…..

11 09 2006

reminded me of my summer, which is sadly gone now….enjoy

The Passionate World

is round. For days we sail, for months, and still the way is new; strange stars.

Drawn to you, taut over time, ropes connect this floating floor to the wind, fraying into sound.

To arrive is to sleep where we stop moving. Past the shoal of clothes to that shore, heaped with debris of words. A hem of salt, white lace, on sea-heavy legs.

Love longs for land. All night we dream the jungle’s sleepy electricity; gnashing chords of insects swim in our ears and we go under, into green. All night love draws its heavy drape of scent against the sea and we wake with the allure of earth in our lungs, hungry for bread and oranges. Salamanders dart from your step’s shadow, disappear among wild coffee, fleshy cacti, thorny succulents and flowers like bowls to save the rain. We are sailors who wake when the moon intrudes the smoky tavern of dreams, wake to find a name on an armor our bodies bruised by sun or the pressure of a hand, wake with the map of the night on our skin, traced like moss-stained stone.

Lost, past the familiar outpost, flat on deck, milky light cool on our damp hair, we look up past the ship’s angels to stars austere as a woodcut, and pray we never reach the lights of that invisible city, where,

landlocked, they have given up on our return, but some nights, woken by the wind, looking up at different stars, they are reminded of us, the faint taste of salt on their lips.

by Anne Michaels





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