I was reading about rationalism,
the kind of thing we do up north.
Now I will make a sound for you to hear.
A sound without a mouth.
The sound of water rushing over trees
felled by the zealous beavers,
look up and it’s suitors, applause,
it’s fast-forward into the labyrinth
of my red dress with blue leaves
and lemon lilies—the one you bought for me—
sounds rising up now and then from the valley,
a hammering, intermittently a dog,
mid-afternoon the sound of weeping in the hall
woke me…hurried steps on the stair, and a door,
on the steps across the street a teacup of flour.
Three mismatched linen napkins folded below it—
the tiers of sugared pastries: angel wings,
cat tongues, and little kiwi tarts;
let’s consider the dark, how green it is.
let’s consider the green, how dark, with the rocker at its heart.
You are like a rich man entering heaven
through the ear of a raindrop. Listen now again.
Copyright © Persea Books 2014
Used with the permission of The Permissions Company, Inc.
on behalf of Persea Books.