Sunday, March 21, 2004

Joanna (Chapter One) sat in the plane,
Smoke pouring from her nostrils. Outside, rain;
Sunset; mild azure; sable bulks awince
With fire - and all those visible at once
While Heaven, quartered like a billionaire's
Coat of arms, put on stupendous airs.
Earth lurched and shivered in the storm's embrace
But kept her distances, lifting a face
Unthinkingly dramatic in repose
As was Joanna's. Desiccated rose
Light hot on bone, ridge, socket where the streak
Of glancing water - if a glance could speak -
Said, "Trace me back to some loud, shallow chill,
Underlying motive's overspill"

James Merrill
from "The Changing Light at Sandover"

No comments:

Post a Comment

Comment moderation is enabled.