{ Richard Jackson: Sonata. }

[delga]

Sonata
by Richard Jackson

Before I could arrive at this moment when the earth 
wakes inside you, when the night is still tangled in your hair, 
before I could see how the moonlight melts 
on your breasts as you lay beside me, 
before you opened the hands of your soul, 
at this moment that is so sudden, so unexpected, 
I can only imagine how the softness of your voice must be  
enough to stop the insects for miles, and I begin 
to understand how the way you open your eyes 
to the morning must be enough to change orbits of planets, 
so it must have been necessary for me, if I've really arrived 
at this moment alive, to have lived 
a life where only my shadow planted the garden, 
only my shadow walked through the market, 
fingered the keys nervously, drove the car too fast, 
and it must be the same shadow that curls up 
in the corner of the room or is hung in the closet 
collecting moths, and it must have taken centuries 
of bones turning to light, of rivers changing course, 
of battles won or lost, of a farmer planting one crop 
or another that failed or not, one atom hitting 
another atom by chance, and through all this a single 
string of time survived volcanoes, lightning strikes, 
car wrecks, floods, invasions to lead to this moment 
abandoned randomly to us, this singular moment that is 
part of time¹s litter or maybe its architecture, because now  
in this moment which is so wondrous the way 
it lies beside you, I either do not exist or the past 
has never existed, either my breath is 
the breath of stars or I do not breathe as I turn to you, 
as you breathe my name, my heart, 
as the net of stars dissolves above us, as you wrap 
yourself around me like honeysuckle, the moon 
turning pale because it is so drained by our love,  
so that before this moment, before you lay beneath me, 
you must have disguised yourself the way the killdeer 
you pointed out diverts intruders to save what it loves, 
pretending a broken wing, giving itself over finally 
to whatever forces, whatever love, whatever touch, 
whatever suffering it needs just to say I am here, 
I am always here, stroking the wings of your soul. 

Comments

[perverseparagon.livejournal.com]

Oddly one of my favourite poems. This and Alternate Endings.

[delgaserasca.livejournal.com]

Ha, I'm posting that one today! I only discovered Jackson last year, but I love near everything he's written.