At “The Priory”
I am writing this letter for the girl who lived lonelier than the moon
the girl who one day alighted in the mirror
and with a little smile pulled a stone slab off my chest
Have you walked in the shoes at the foot of the stairs?
Why don’t you saddle the horses’ neighing?
It must be your eyes
that sometimes sound a few galloping neighs have horses
Our last happiness was the wind that’s gone with the wind
Even cows don’t lick at the river photo in these newspapers
God’s legs have stuck out of the clouds’ skirts
These beds have come through women of old
Attack! Row your oars!
The sea always has so much more swimming than boat rides
We are human again
I have heard, from this very line you are hearing, at the end of the poem I am writing, at first dusk descends a little, then it rains and in the end the sound of the unsaddled neighing of a herd of horses, is running in my shoes.
The clatter of my feet in the stretch of my shoes by your side
I don’t know what wool to pull over I don’t know
I don’t know?
Like a woman who lived two years in my eyes
isn’t it a sin to drag me so from bed to bed?
How can I command these trembling soldiers facing you, O life
From the shoes at the foot of the stairs
comes the sound of galloping horses
don’t you believe me?
You! Standing there beyond the end of this letter
just send me two eyes